Daughter's Locket
by OughtaKnowBetter
Summary: A piece of intelligence goes astray. Complete story.
1. Chapter 1

Daughter's Locket

By OughtaKnowBetter

Disclaimer: we can all pretend, can't we?

* * *

"Lissy! Hurry up; you'll be late for school."

"Mom, I can't find my locket! It was here just yesterday when I was watching Serena for Mrs. Brown! I can't find it!"

"Then you'll have to go to school without it. You can look for it when you come home. _After_ you do your homework," Tiffy Gerhardt added firmly.

Light brown hair was tossed scornfully over a teenage shoulder, with a look that only a teenager could use effectively. "I gotta find it, Mom! I told Angie that I'd show her, and she's like the coolest kid in school. If I don't bring it in, she'll think I was _lying_!" The last broke off in a wail.

"You've got sixty seconds to look for it." Tiffy gave in, but only just so much. "After that, you're outta here."

"But what if I can't find—"

"Then you'll have to explain to your friends that you mislaid it, and that in the future you're going to keep your room neat and clean so that this doesn't happen. Right?"

* * *

Molly Blane never liked this part of town. It wasn't as though it was really bad—this was, after all, a town with an army base squatting right on its borders and a commanding officer who wasn't above sending out a squad or two of M.P.s to assist the local police in performance of their duties, whether or not those duties included interactions with a few soldiers feeling their oats—but the buildings lining the roads had that run-down feel to them. The windows of the buildings were old, and it wasn't only faces peering out through the curtains that caused the fabric to sway. The breezes creeping through did their share, allowing heat to leech away and steal money through electric and heating bills. There were a few too many walls in need of painting, and bushes in need of trimming, and roofs with drooping shingles.

No, Molly always double-checked that the doors to her car were locked whenever she needed to pass this way. It was a shame, because the market with the best quality food and the best prices lay in this direction. It wasn't as if anything had ever happened to her. In fact, Molly couldn't recall any story that involved someone she knew. Every story began with the disclaimer, 'I heard it from so and so, who heard it from so and so, who—" and on and on. It could have been a mugging in the seventies that had generated a tale that refused to go away. Who knew?

Still, Molly didn't like this section of town, and she put pressure on the gas pedal just an infinitesimal bit more, eased the speedometer up another notch, and hurried.

_Bang!_

The car jolted forward, rammed from behind.

Molly couldn't help herself; she screeched in alarm. Her chest suddenly hurt, and she realized that she'd been thrown against the steering wheel. _I'll have a bruise there the size of a melon, _was her first barely coherent thought.

Her second thought was: _don't get out!_ That was the way some muggers worked: ram a car from behind, then rob whoever got out to see what the damage was. The engine to her car was still running; Molly could step on the pedal and not stop until she reached the police station or the army base, whichever direction she could remember most clearly. Panic clutched at her heart.

But the person emerging from the other car was just a young woman, someone just as dismayed as Molly that this had happened. Teenager, really, probably someone's daughter with her first car, talking on her cell phone, hurrying to school, terrified out of her wits. Molly remembered her daughter Betsy's first accident, not more than a dent in a fender but scared stiff that Sergeant Major Dad was going to come down on her like a ton of bricks. He hadn't, but only because Molly had persuaded him not to. Betsy had learned her lesson, had paid for the damage to the other car herself, and the only lingering damage was to a young girl's ego. Pounding it in hadn't been necessary.

This girl was likely in the same condition. How would the kid handle it? Mature, own up to her mistake and take responsibility? Or would she try to somehow make it into Molly's fault? Molly would take her cue from the child's own response. Molly pulled on the car handle, grateful that it opened without any difficulty, fumbling in her handbag for her license and registration—and her insurance card.

Two men from out of nowhere yanked her from the car and grabbed her handbag. One snatched at the heavy gold necklace that she wore, jerking at it until the clasp broke and the chain came away in his hand. Molly shrieked in rage, striking out at them, but they were gone in an instant, fleeing down the road and into a back alley.

Molly turned to the girl, to the other driver—had they assaulted her, too?

The second engine revved. The girl was back behind the wheel, pulling out and driving off in a squeal of rubber.

Gone. Everyone gone. Her handbag, her necklace, her sense of safety. Her clothing torn—must have happened when those men were snatching her purse. Molly started to reach for her cell phone to call the police—dammit, her cell had been in her purse! She didn't have any way to call for help. Even the few coins rattling around in the car wouldn't help; there weren't any pay phones any more, not with everyone owning one and two cells and sometimes more.

_Dammit!

* * *

_

Sergeant Major Jonas Blane kept his voice low. "Snake Doc to home base. We have eyes on target. Repeat: eyes on the target."

Sgt. Kayla Medawar's cool tones came across the air waves, and Blane knew that she was receiving direction from Col. Ryan. "You have a go. Retrieve the package, Snake Doc."

Time for caution. Time to not make a mistake. His men were burning to go bust down the doors, pour in and stop the evil that was taking place. Blane knew that, but this was the time when caution was most needed. Allowing the screams of agony that were bursting from within to rush his team into a mistake would mean disaster for more than just their fellow soldier inside the shanty.

Blane forced himself to review the target. Team Beta was over the next hill, waiting for Alpha Team to give the go-ahead to come in with guns blazing and take out the target. The building that was a mere hundred yards away from Blane was a squat brick building, something that was unfortunately highly defensible, in Blane's opinion. Failure to plan would be to plan for failure. Blane planned.

The package—Sgt. Ted Masters, of Beta Team—had been assigned reconnaissance more than two weeks ago. He'd disappeared, and now Alpha Team had found him in the less than tender hands of the Sons of Elijah, a radical splinter group with ties to more Middle Eastern terrorist groups than Blane could keep track of. The ties would be someone else's headache, Blane knew. His assignment was to retrieve Sgt. Masters, preferably alive, extract whatever intelligence he could if it looked as though the intelligence needed emergent extracting, and get the hell out of Dodge. Then Beta Team could swoop in and inflict a little revenge for the treatment that their forward agent had undergone.

Three entrances, each one guarded by a kid who looked like he knew what he was doing with an M-16. The building wasn't large, which meant that the number of people inside would be limited. Blane estimated that the inside crowd couldn't be larger than ten, plus Masters. This was manageable. It would be tricky, it would require good timing, but it could be done without an inordinate amount of luck.

Blane nodded to the man beside him and they moved in, allowing the darkness to cover their forward progress. Charles Grey was Blane's opposite number: where Blane was tall, Grey was short. Blane was cool, calm, and collected; Grey was a cannon that was ready to explode once someone gave permission for the fuse to blow—and sometimes without even a fuse. Still, a good man to have at his side, and Blane had hand-picked every member of his team. He knew his men, and there was a reason that Ryan assigned the most difficult missions to Alpha Team.

Another step, and another. Blane felt more than heard Grey at his heels, each one breathing silently and placing each foot so that not a sound emerged to give them away. Night vision goggles made the landscape stand out in a Mars-like eerie world, everything tinged with red. A flare—the guard in front of them lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply of the nicotine-laced smoke, his automatic weapon dangling at his side. Good; they were still undetected.

That wouldn't last much longer. Grey and he had advanced as far as they could without detection. It was show time.

_Click._ Blane tabbed his radio once: a signal.

Nothing was heard, but three bullets arrowed their way toward three deserving targets. Most silencers simply quieted the noise of the shot but these toys, straight from the experimental ballistics lab, did a far better job of muffling the sound. The only way Blane knew that three sentries were no longer on the job was because the sentry guarding the entrance that he and Grey were looking at suddenly flopped over onto the ground and lay there, his life's blood cooling to a dim orange in the artificial light of the night vision goggles. It was a good bet, Blane decided, that the two guarding the other entrances were in a similar condition. The lack of noise tended to confirm his supposition.

Now it was his turn, his and Grey's. The pair didn't wait for any of the others to catch up. It was now time to do something about the weakening screams that floated through the corridors to twist at their guts.

Blane led, followed the sound that needed to be silenced, Grey trailing him and covering their backsides. One soldier emerged from a side door, pulling up his pants and fumbling at his belt buckle.

The automatic would be too noisy. Blane opted for a palm strike to the nose, rocking the soldier back with one powerful blow. He started to move in, and halted. There was no need. The soldier was sprawled on the floor of the john, out cold.

He would be found before too long, but Blane expected to be out of this rat hole before that happened. Killing someone in cold blood was not something that Blane enjoyed doing and if he didn't have to, he wouldn't. The young soldier would live—for now. Whether or not he would enjoy his life after this episode was something that Blane was not about to predict.

They made their way swiftly along the corridors, meeting only one more person and stuffing him into a closet with a broken arm but without consciousness. He too would wake up before long, and it wouldn't matter. Blane and his men would be long gone.

A light at the end of the corridor alerted them—that, and a gurgling sob of a man pushed too far beyond tolerance.

Blane exchanged a glance with Grey. This was it. They had reached their objective, now it was time to acquire the package. As one, they removed their night vision goggles. The room before them was well lit, the better to see the owner of the screams, and night goggles would be a hindrance.

_On three_. Blane held up his hand. _One. Two—_

_Blam!_

Blane slammed open the door with one hand, firing with the other, sensing more than seeing the targets, aiming for the soldiers on the left. _Hostage identified; no kill zone established._ Grey was on his heels, taking out the remainder on the right.

Not one of the six enemy soldiers had the time to pull his own weapon before he was a dead man. One on the right tried; his automatic was in his hands, and he was swinging it into position when Grey's bullet entered his heart. He tried. He failed. He was too slow.

Blane kept to the plan. He positioned himself by the sole entrance to the room, standing guard, while Grey ministered to the victim who was sliding out of the hard-backed chair now that the additional support—his torturers—were gone. "Betty Blue?" Blane kept only part of his attention on the corridor outside.

"Not good." Grey pulled out medical supplies from his pack. A quick jab, and an intravenous line was started, pouring in life-giving fluids. "Keep breathin', buddy." Morphine followed soon after.

Masters tried. The bubbles of blood seeping out over his bitten lips were evidence of that. Air passed wetly in and out of his lungs. "Jonas…"

This was going to be a deathbed statement. Even a blind man could see that, and Grey was considerably better than that. "Snake Doc," he called.

"Switch places." Blane came over and knelt by the Unit operator gasping his last. "I'm here, Ted."

"Jonas…" Masters worked to get the words out. "I didn't break, Jonas."

"I know that, Ted." It was only the truth. "You're a good man."

The morphine was kicking in, and it helped. The words flowed more smoothly. "I didn't break, Jonas. They didn't get anything out of me."

"Did you find anything?"

"Passed the intel…few days…ago…It's waiting…for pick up…" Now the morphine was taking over; that, or life was receding. Blane feared it was the latter. "Tell Maria…"

Blane leaned over. "Tell Maria what, Ted? Where's the intel?"

"…love…"

His breath seeped out in a final sigh, and Master Sergeant Jonas Blane gently closed the eyes of the man who had given his life for his country. He rose to his feet. "We're done here."

"Not yet, Snake Doc." Grey gestured to the papers in his hands, worry plain on his face. He had dived into the manila folders sitting on the table, knowing what needed to come next and in a hurry to get to it. "These guys knew their stuff. They were tracking his movements, seeing where he went over the past couple of weeks. They must have suspected him. Shaky cover."

"Looking for where he passed his intel." Blane knew that for a fact. It was what any half-competent spy would have done in the same position, and this crowd was considerably more than half-competent.

Williams had replaced Grey by the door, guarding their backs while Gerhardt and Brown swept the building for the remainder of the enemy. He tossed a glance over his shoulder. "So where is the intel? Where did Masters leave it?"

"Damned if I know." Blane surveyed the room, as if the missing intelligence was somehow hidden there. Ridiculous notion, borne out of frustration. "But it sure as hell ain't going to be Masters who tells us where it is."

"Snake Doc." Grey called once again for attention. "Look at this." He held out the papers that the enemy soldiers had collected.

"You think you know where Masters put his intel?"

"Not exactly." Grey was grim. "But I know where _they_ think he did." Several of the papers he held were photographs, big and glossy and easy to see the people immortalized on film. There were several scenes, one of a young mother and her two children getting out of the family car in front of a grocery store. Another showed a pretty blonde entering a large brick building: a school, somewhere in the middle of America, with youngsters milling around and hoping that classes would be canceled for the day. Several more were of an area picnic, with some half dozen military families enjoying the summer season by joining together in a barbecue. Kids danced and played, caught in a moment in time, and the men—and few of the women—played at baseball.

Blane recognized the man at bat: Mack Gerhardt, shirt open and flapping in the gentle breeze. The bat itself was positioned over the man's shoulder, looking for all the world like Dirt Diver was pro. Blane remembered that particular swing: Hector Williams on the mound sailed a curve ball right past Gerhardt's nose, putting Gerhardt's good-natured boasts away along with the batter. There was Ted Masters himself, poised on first and ready to rabbit once the ball was hit. His wife Maria was cheering him on from the sidelines. That had been a good day. That day had been less than two weeks ago.

Masters had already been on his mission. Blane hadn't known then what it was, but he did now. Masters had gone out for a second recon, and hadn't been so fortunate. They'd been waiting for him, the dead soldiers in this very room, and they'd taken him. Three days later, there were too many dead men. Yet, to another way of thinking, there weren't enough: Gerhardt came back to where Blane waited with their dead comrade. "Snake Doc."

"Dirt Diver?"

"I found signs of at least another dozen men squatting here. They were cramped in like sardines in a can." Gerhardt surveyed the dead bodies on the floor, his lips tightening. "We only took out half of 'em."

Blane went cold. The pictures in this room meant that there was another squad of these bastards out looking for Masters's intel, and they'd be looking entirely too close to where Blane and his men lived. There was no time to waste; the collateral damage would hit on a very personal level. "I'm calling this in," he told them grimly.


	2. I Won't Let Them Get You

There was a car waiting on the roadside when Molly Blane pulled into her driveway, and she grimaced. If there was ever a time that she did _not_ appreciate company, it would be this. Clothes torn, hair in disarray, handbag missing, wallet and identification gone—what she _wanted_ was a few hours to herself to start putting her life back together again, starting with a hot shower to wash away the grime and the stink of her assailants. Then would be the phone calls to the credit card companies; no, that had best come first. Molly and Jonas Blane didn't have enough money to allow scoundrels to squander it away with stolen cards. Where the hell was Jonas? Just like every other time, off saving the world but couldn't be bothered to save his wife from muggers. She frowned again, knowing that her thoughts were completely unreasonable and giving in to the grouchy delight of complaining under her breath. She'd be reasonable tomorrow, after she'd put this mess behind her.

Then Molly Blane caught her breath—that was Colonel Ryan getting out of that car, and this wouldn't be a social call, not with him in uniform in the middle of the day. No, it couldn't be that visit, the one that every spouse dreaded, that her husband had made the ultimate sacrifice—

_No._ Colonel Ryan wasn't in formal dress, and there was concern, not grief, on his craggy face. Not with two of his men trailing him, all three of them headed in her direction. Molly tried to pull herself together—not an easy task with a ripped blouse exposing things best kept hidden.

Ryan didn't wait for the pleasantries. He took in her appearance at once. "Mrs. Blane! Are you all right?"

"Yes," Molly lied. "Just a little shaken." She did her best to stand up straight. "Is he—?"

No need to ask who 'he' was. "He's fine, Mrs. Blane," Ryan assured her. "What happened?"

There was no use trying to lie to Colonel Ryan. The man had taught Molly's own husband his trade. Molly refused to let the tears well behind her eyes. "I was mugged," she told him, trying to keep from shaking.

Ryan's eyes narrowed. "Get a squad out here, ricki-tick," he tossed over his shoulder at the two soldiers in his wake. "I want this neighborhood scanned, and I want Mrs. Gerhardt and Mrs. Brown and their families safe _now_." He turned back to Molly, the concern plain. "Do you need medical attention?"

The tremors were coming, and she couldn't stop them. "No. Just a cup of hot tea. Thank you, colonel." Molly's teeth started chattering.

Colonel Ryan looked as though he didn't quite believe her. He took her gently by the arm, steering her toward the front door of her home. "Let's get you inside."

"Yes." It was what Molly wanted, to hide inside her snug little house for a while, away from the bad world outside.

Then she stopped. It hit her. "My keys! They're gone!" It was little short of a wail, and one traitorous tear leaked out. "I can't get in to my own damn house!"

A crooked little grin appeared on the face of her husband's superior officer. This was something he could directly help with. "Let's see if I haven't forgotten everything I ever learned," he told her, the drawl coming thick. "I'm assuming that Jonas won't let you hide a key anywhere outside?"

Molly nodded.

"Then we'll just have to see how good the locks are around here." Tom Ryan pulled out a slender and well-worn leather billfold. He selected a slim metal tool from within, the lacquer dimmed by long usage, and slipped it into the lock on the door of her house. "You'll be having these locks changed, of course. Since the keys were stolen."

"Of course," Molly echoed faintly.

_Click_. Ryan twisted the knob and pushed the door open. He looked at his watch, and frowned. "Gettin' slow in my old age. Well, time marches on for the best of us. Best you wait here a moment while I make certain that those miscreants haven't already made use of your housekeys." He was back in under two minutes, having quickly but thoroughly searched the house for signs that an intruder had visited—or was still an unwanted houseguest. "House is clean, Mrs. Blane. You can go inside—"

_Crack!_

Even a silenced bullet makes noise, and this one was no exception. Molly had no time to react, but Colonel Ryan's instincts were honed by years of danger. In a flash, he had her down on the ground, the bushes half-covering their bodies and his own weapon in his hand.

"Stay down!" he hissed, as if Molly was thinking about getting up and doing a samba in front of the gunman. Molly could smell the acrid scent of adrenaline coursing through the soldier's veins through her terror. Ryan scrambled to a crouch, peering through the leaves, trying to locate the sniper.

_Snick!_ Another bullet arrowed between them. Ryan gave a return shot, taking the position from where the bullet had come from. "Damn lousy shot. Oughta be ashamed of hisself," Ryan muttered under his breath. He didn't look at her. "Miz Blane, when I tell you to, you scoot for the door and get behind one of those sofas of yours. You got me?"

"Run when you tell me to." Molly's own adrenaline was gushing. She could feel her heart thudding in her chest, wanting to run away on its own.

"Good woman. On the count of three." Ryan squinted along the meager sight of his handgun. "One. Two. Three—"

Molly ran. It was only a few steps to the doorway, and Molly dashed into her safe home faster than she thought she ever could. The harsh _bang bang bang_ of Ryan's weapon chased her heels, covering her sprint.

Not fast enough. _Crack!_, and another bullet creased the edge of the door as she darted through. Molly more fell than dove behind her upholstered sofa, but it didn't matter. She was inside, behind cover, and Tom Ryan was outside seeing that whoever was shooting at her wasn't going to get in.

She heard him shout. "Shooter at three o'clock!" The other two soldiers must have found out that something was going on, and came back to check on their colonel. Molly chanced a grim smile; who would have thought that a sniper would have the brass to set up a kill in the housing section of an army base? The shooter was either supremely confident or supremely stupid, and Molly shakily decided on the spot that she didn't care which. After this, Colonel Ryan was going to have a soldier stationed in every home on the block, protecting the families of his men.

Moments later Ryan appeared in her doorway, a perfect target for anyone wanting to bag a colonel. "Shooter's gone," he announced. "You all right, Mrs. Blane?"

"I've just been mugged, shot at, frightened out of my wits, and nearly killed, colonel," she replied tartly. That sounded ungrateful, and she wasn't. She forced a smile; crooked, but it was the best that Molly Blane could come up with on the spot. "Thank you, colonel. I'm fine."

"Your husband'd have my head if I let anything happen to his wife," Ryan acknowledged. He glanced around automatically, taking in the familiar surroundings of the Blane household. "I think we'd best have you under the direct protection of the U.S. Army for a bit, until we can figure this thing out."

"What _is_ going on, colonel?"

"You know I can't tell you that, Mrs. Blane," Ryan reproved. "Let me debrief Jonas and his men, and then we'll see what we can see. He'll be landing inside of an hour."

* * *

"Tiffy!"

"Mack!" Tiffy Gerhardt bolted across the room as her husband stormed in through the door of their home. "Mack, what's going on? Why are these men here? Where's Lissy?"

Mack could only focus on one person at a time. "You're all right?"

"I'm fine, Mack. What's going on?" Tiffy repeated, more insistently. "Mack, I have to know! Where's Lissy?"

"Lissy's not here?" Gerhardt turned to the two soldiers in the living room of his home. "Where's my daughter?"

"Sir, we're looking for her—"

Gerhardt didn't need to raise his voice to make it cutting. "That's not what I asked. I asked where she _was_, private."

Tiffy jumped in. "Mack, they took me to Lissy's school. They said that she left right after her last class, but she wasn't with her friends."

Mack was still securing his perimeter. "What about Jen? She here? She okay?"

"She's fine, Mack," Tiffy started to say when their youngest daughter emerged from her bedroom.

Jen flew across the room. "Daddy!"

"I got you, sweetheart." Mack grabbed her up in a fierce hug, pulling Tiffy in along with her, ignoring the two soldiers in the room beside them. "You're safe." He bent down so that he could talk one on one with his daughter. "Do you know where Lissy is? Where she went?"

Jen scrunched up her face. "No. She said she was going home with friends, when she left school. She left ahead of me; I stayed after for drama club." She frowned. "Mom came and got me. I didn't get a chance to practice my scenes."

"Tiffy, did you question her friends?"

"Yes, of course I did, Mack." Tiffy's hands were shaking. "They said she never showed up. They left without her."

"You try to call her?"

"Constantly. It just goes to voicemail." Tiffy kept shaking. "Mack, what's going on?"

Mack ignored the question. "Where would she go? The library? She have a project due?"

"No. I checked with her teachers. She's caught up." Tiffy was losing it; she dashed away a tear. "Mack, what's going on? Where could she be?"

"I'm going to find out," Mack vowed grimly. He hauled out his cell and punched in some well-known numbers. "Gerhardt. My daughter's missing. That's right; Lissy. She hasn't been seen since she left school this afternoon." Pause; listen. "I'll bring her—them both in. Gerhardt out." He flipped the cell closed.

"Daddy?" Jen's eyes were big. "Is Lissy going to be okay?"

"Sure, she is, sweetheart." It sounded like a lie, like a politician's promise that would take a miracle to keep, but all three Gerhardts took it for gospel truth. "Tiffy, I'm going to take you and Jen onto the base where you'll be safe."

"Mack, what's going on?" Tiffy dug in her heels. "Where's Lissy?"

"That's what me and Jonas are going to find out." The name of his team leader reassured her, just as Mack hoped that it would. "Listen, you remember that picnic that we went to a couple weeks ago?"

"Picnic?" _At a time like this, you want to talk about a picnic?_

Mack plowed on. "That's right. Sgt. Masters was there. Remember?"

Tiffy furrowed her brow. "I remember. I don't think I talked to him, maybe said hello. I mostly chatted with Maria Masters. He played baseball much of the time; wasn't he on your team, Mack?"

"Yeah, he was," Mack agreed. "Left outfield. Listen, I want the two of you to be thinking about that picnic; what Ted Masters did, who he talked to, where he was."

"All right." There was going to be more discussion later, when their youngest daughter wasn't present to get any more scared than she already was. The look on Tiffy's face promised that. "It's important?"

"It's important," Mack affirmed, squeezing Jen's shoulder.

* * *

"It's important, Kim," Bob Brown said, unaware that he was echoing his fellow Unit member's words. He let his eyes rove over his son, playing with his blocks in the middle of the floor. The infant, sitting in a clean diaper, had just learned how to hold a block in each chubby fist. As an added bonus, Teddy had figured out that if he smashed his two hands together he could make noise. So he did. Over and over. It was music to his parents' ears. In the other corner of the room his daughter Serena was shopping with her doll, examining the different wares that Serena—playing both shopper and sales clerk—had set out for 'sale'.

"Jonas found some pictures of the picnic, taken through a scope. They were watching; it looks like they were wondering about him, and had him followed to confirm their suspicions." Bob Brown kept his voice down, away from his daughter. What he had to say was for his wife's ears only.

"They were watching us?" Shudders played up and down Kim's spine.

"They were." Bob confirmed it. "They were watching all of us. They took pictures of every one there, so that they could identify us later. They were thorough." He glanced around in an automatic gesture toward security. "Get together a small bag of Serena's and Teddy's things. You'll be on base for at least a few hours." _Maybe longer_, was left unsaid. _I'll be back to pick up clothing for you, if it's needed_.

_I won't let them get you_.


	3. Looking for Answers

A high percentage of the kids attending school there were army brats, used to military ways and used to having friends pick up and leave whenever orders came through. There was a certain wariness in Lissy's friends' eyes as they took in the appearance of Lissy's father and his team leader—but there was also a certain lack of fear. These kids were used to dealing with the military, both at home and away from it.

Becky was the girl that they were questioning at the moment, along with her sister Danielle. Both were the kinds of girls that Mack preferred his daughter to hang out with: studious and polite, the type to get A's and B's in school instead of detention. Both had long dark hair, although Becky's hair tended toward wavy and Dani's straight.

Not the point of the interview. Mack let Blane handle the questions, the parents hovering in the background.

"Ladies," Sgt. Blane said in his deep voice, treating the girls as though they were older than they were, "this is important. Sgt. Gerhardt's daughter is missing, and you may have been the last two to see her. Remember back to this afternoon: was she at school?"

"Absolutely," Becky nodded. "She was in my algebra class, and she helped me figure out a bunch of quadratic equations. She's pretty good in math," she added.

_Really? News to me. I thought she hated schoolwork in any form._ Mack forced his eyebrows to stay in place, swearing to himself that he would get to know his eldest daughter better if he ever got her back. _When_ he got her back, he amended silently, refusing to entertain any other concept. The thought of life without those blue eyes staring back at him in a combination of love and teenage anger—no. Not going there. They _would_ get her back, he swore.

Jonas Blane was patient. "Was that your last class?" he inquired, keeping it calm, keeping his second in command cool through sheer example.

Becky bobbed her head up and down. "We had to get our stuff to go home," she told him. "Our books, and stuff, from our lockers. We've got a test in English tomorrow—she's in that class with me, too—and we were going to study together at the café before going home. Only she never showed," Becky said, furrowing her brows. She shrugged. "I tried calling her cell, but she never picked up. I just thought maybe she met up with Jimmy or somebody."

"Jimmy?" Blane invited her to expand on the topic.

"Omigod! Jimmy is like the coolest kid in school! He's, like, already talking about applying to West Point, or maybe Annapolis, or something like that!"

"A worthy ambition," Blane allowed.

An expression of worry crossed Becky's face, and her eyes darted to Gerhardt and then away again. "You won't tell her that I told, will you? I mean, like every girl in the school's got a crush on Jimmy. I mean, if she ever finds out that I told her _dad_ about this…"

"I promise I won't say anything," Mack forced himself to say. "Do you think that this Jimmy will know where she is?" _We don't know for certain that those guys snatched her. My daughter is definitely capable of going shopping without telling her mother. And staying out late with kids that I will personally turn over to their parents—or the cops—without thinking twice about it, applying to West Point or no._

"Maybe—" Becky started to say when her sister butted in.

"Nope," Dani said with conviction.

"You dork—"

"Why is that?" Blane interrupted what could easily become an exercise in sibling rivalry.

"'Cause I saw Jimmy with Charlene Tuttle, that's why," Dani smirked.

"No way, dip. Charlene came to the café later. _Without_ Jimmy. So there!"

"Like, maybe he dumped her, too."

"Like, maybe you didn't really see them together."

"Like, maybe you didn't really see Charlene at the café."

"Ladies," Blane interrupted, trying to get the discussion back on track. "I thank you for your assistance in this matter."

"One more question," Mack pushed in. "Did Lissy have her cell phone with her? Could she have left it somewhere?" It would be an explanation for why his daughter wasn't answering her phone.

Becky opened her mouth, but Dani beat her to it. "Nope. I saw her calling someone while she was at her locker. Her locker's a few lockers down from mine. I saw her on the phone."

"Who was she talking to?" Long shot.

Shot down. Dani shrugged, not because she didn't care but because she didn't have an answer. "I don't know. Maybe Iris Gonzalez. They have a science project that they need to work on."

"That's good," Blane said. He straightened up; the interview was over. "Thank you, ladies. You've been a big help."

* * *

"I'm not sure I should be letting you do this…" The principal's voice trailed off nervously. "If you'd like to wait while I call the janitor with the bolt cutter…"

Grey let Hector Williams handle her. His teammate was good at handling people like her, calm and cool and reasoning people into seeing it his way. "We have her parents' permission," Hector pointed out, "and the school is the final arbiter of privacy when it comes to opening up school lockers. A young girl is missing," he reminded the woman. "Minutes are precious; Sgt. Grey is an expert locksmith." Shading the truth; every one of the Unit soldiers could go through a combination lock as though it was made of tinfoil. It wasn't only locksmiths who had that sort of skill. "We need to find out if there is anything here that might let us know where she is. Tell me: is she the type that you think might run off if she was upset?"

The conversation flowed past, and Grey concentrated on the simple combination lock that kept the contents of Lissy Gerhardt's locker private. It was a cheap model, bought at the local supermarket, a three number code that was programmed in at the factory. _Click_. One number identified, and Grey didn't need to see what it was. He did, anyway. If he spun past the second, it would save time to be able to start over with the correct digit.

"Possibly," the principal said doubtfully. "She's a bright young girl, but has a tendency to fly off the handle."

_Click_. Two down, one to go.

Hector pulled the woman away ever so slightly, distancing the noise from Grey. A small part of Charlie appreciated his teammate's thoughtfulness.

"What do you mean? Has Lissy been especially upset recently?"

"I'm not sure I should be sharing this with you…"

"Ms. Sanchez." Hector allowed a stern edge to sidle into his voice. "I can obtain the warrant, but that will waste valuable time while a young girl's life may be in danger. Has Lissy Gerhardt been upset recently?"

_Damn. Missed the third click, the magic door. Back to square one_._ Shouldn't have been listening to them talk. Lack of concentration can get you killed, mister._

"Children tend to react when there is tension in the home," Principal Sanchez said faintly. "I…I'm going to suggest that you speak to Lissy's parents…"

_Like that's a surprise. Good enough reason not to have kids._

"Enough so that Lissy might run away?" Hector kept his tone even.

"It's so hard to tell…"

_Click. Click. Click_.

"Got it." Grey broke up the difficult conversation, knowing without even seeing the principal's face that what she felt was relief at the timely interruption. He slipped the curved metal rod out of its nest, and wrestled the chronically warped door open.

It looked neater than Charlie's own locker from years ago, back when he was in school. That wasn't saying much; _every_ kid's locker had been neater than Charlie's. He wasn't about to say that he hated school…yes, he was. Charles Grey had hated school, and the only reason that he graduated—near the bottom of the class, thank you very much—was because his mother had made him promise to do so before she died. _"Prométame,"_ she had insisted, sitting in the hospital bed that the nurses had gotten for her just before the end. "Promise me. Finish school. Get your diploma. Make me proud of you, Carlito."

He'd done it. He'd gotten the diploma, even though she hadn't been there to see it. It had been the longest four months of his life. The plan had been to turn eighteen, drop out of school, and go to work as an apprentice to some electrician and make a boatload of money. _Didn't quite work out that way, did it, Carlito? You were lucky. Your friends, the ones that did drop out: they're dead now. Killed on the street. Gang violence. That could have been you._

Not Lissy Gerhardt. Mack's kid was smart. Maybe she didn't have her head screwed on right all the time, but what kid her age did?

So the question came down to: did she take off on her own and the timing was really _really_ bad, or had some of Masters's playmates give her some help? Grey wasn't about to say which was worse. Both could end up with a dead Gerhardt kid. Of course, scenario number two would also have world intelligence implications, so maybe that made it worse for the world, but Lissy wouldn't be around to care.

Not getting anyone anywhere. Grey focused on the contents of the locker. There were text books, of course, and a bunch of papers stuffed in the bottom. They'd have to go through those papers, to see if there was anything besides discarded class notes. Maybe something that would lead them to that kid Jimmy that Lissy's friends had mentioned. Maybe, maybe not. Lissy's sister Jen didn't know anything about any relationship, which suggested that the idea was all in a teenage girl's fantasies. There were a couple of hooks tacked onto the inside of the door, and one forlorn necklace was draped there. It looked like something that someone had picked up from the leftovers bin at the department store—if it had been Grey, way back in those days, paying for it would have been optional—but it did have an intense green to the fake plastic beads. With the right blouse, it probably looked pretty on Lissy. The overriding plus, for Lissy, would have been that it hadn't been picked out by her mother. Grey could just bet that this locker, over time, had held a bunch of different pieces of costume jewelry that Mack Gerhardt's oldest daughter used that neither Mack nor Tiffy knew about.

He made himself scan the outline of the locker, observing each and every element with a trained observer's eye. He caught it: a deep scratch in the bland taupe paint that all the lockers were painted. The scratch was fresh; the edges hadn't had a chance to become blurred into the rest with a hint of rust peeking through. Grey peered closer. Yup; definitely fresh, and probably within the last few hours.

"Locker's been breached," he announced.

"It has?" Hector's attention was caught. He pulled away from the principal. He whistled soundlessly. "Recent, too."

"What?" Principal Sanchez tried to peer in, tried to see what they were looking at. "What do you mean? That's not allowed."

Grey let remark slide by. An observation on the nature of reality would only inflame the situation, and they didn't need this principal screeching about police and such. "Next question is, what were they after?"

"What do you mean, 'they'?" Principal Sanchez was getting more and more upset. "Only students and their parents are allowed on school grounds. We keep records, and we post guards."

"I'm sure you do," Hector soothed.

Grey knew what kind of guards were posted: tiny five foot two newbie teachers and overweight retirees willing to work an hour or two for minimum wage and a chance to get out of the house and gossip. Still…"Let's see if your records show anything," he suggested.

Hector wasn't quite finished. "Anything in the locker?"

Grey shrugged, sliding the door closed and re-latching the lock, committing the combination to memory in case it was needed once more. "Not unless someone was interested in the American Revolution."

* * *

Normally Colonel Ryan would have Sgt. Brown conduct the investigation, but in this case Sgt. Brown—along with Mrs. Brown, and Mrs. Blane and Mrs. Gerhardt—were the ones trying to remember every detail they could about a picnic that occurred some two weeks ago.

The only thing going for Mrs. Gerhardt, he decided grimly, was the thought that this would somehow lead them to her daughter. Tiffy kept her other daughter at her side, not even allowing the girl to go to the necessary by herself on a secure army base. _Can't afford to lose both of 'em, is that it, Tiffy?_ Not that he blamed her. No, he blamed himself. He was responsible to look after the families of his men while they were away on a mission, and he'd let 'em down. Didn't matter whether the girl had run away or gotten herself snatched. Fact was, girl was missing on his watch. He needed to rectify the matter.

"Sam and Marjorie Kleinschmidt didn't come," Mrs. Brown was remembering.

"That was right before Marjorie's mother passed," Mrs. Blane agreed. "They went back home to help out."

"What did you ladies talk about?" Colonel Ryan tried to move the discussion along. What he really wanted to ask was _what the hell did Sgt. Masters pass along as a key to his intelligence?_

This was normally when he'd expect Tiffy Gerhardt to say something cute. She'd bat those baby blues at him so's nobody could see that she was serious and make a comment that'd have him tingling in places that he couldn't discuss in polite company and certainly not in front of the wives of his men.

Not now. Right now Mrs. Gerhardt was scared stiff that her husband's career had gotten her daughter killed. If the Gerhardt marriage survived this, it would be a miracle. _Your marriage on again, or off again, Tiffy? Can't keep up with you. Can't figure you out. Can't think straight around you, and right now I got to._

Fortunately, it was Mrs. Brown that answered. "You," she said tartly. _Would've come out a whole lot differently if Tiffy'd said it._ Mrs. Brown was equally scared, scared for her own kids, only hers were a lot less likely to go haring off on their own.

"Let's look at the pictures," Bob Brown suggested, picking up copies of the photos that Alpha Team had acquired while trying to retrieve Sgt. Masters. "Maybe they'll suggest something, something that someone else saw."

"Or thought they saw," Molly Blane added, her thoughts churning. Of them all, Ryan privately thought that she'd be the one to come up with the answer. Sharp as a tack, that woman, and kept Jonas Blane hopping to keep up with her. Good woman, too; knew right from wrong.

Brown knew it, too. "They think that Masters passed something to someone." he said. "I'm not sure how he could have. He played third base most of the time."

"No, he didn't," Kim Brown contradicted. "He was in the outfield."

"Yes, but he was on third for some of it." Tiffy agreed with Bob. "Remember? I slid into third base when Mack hit a double. I thought that it was going to be a homer, but then somebody picked it up on the bounce—"

"That was Charlie," Molly murmured.

Tiffy nodded. "Charlie grabbed it on the bounce and threw it in. I slid into third—"

_Looked mighty damn purty with the third base dirt on your nose, Mrs. Gerhardt._

"—and Ted Masters gave me a hand to stand up," she finished. "So he must have been covering third base for part of the game."

Mrs. Blane frowned. "Your team had four runs that inning," she remembered. "Yours was number three, Tiffy. Who else was playing on your team?"

"It was me, and Mack, and…"

"We were going to call it the Gerhardt team, because me and Lissy were playing too, Mom," Jen inserted. "Then nobody decided on any names. We just played without. I got a hit in the sixth inning."

"She did," Kim agreed. "And, Tiffy, Lissy batted ahead of you. Wasn't she standing on third base for a while?"

"She was," Molly affirmed. "There were two outs in between you. I remember wondering if she'd be able to run home. She and Sgt. Masters talked," Molly said, seeing the picture in her mind's eye. "From a distance, I thought that perhaps they were just exchanging jokes about the game, but now I'm not so certain."

Ryan sorted through the photos. He selected one in particular. "Like this?"

The photo showed Sgt. Masters perched beside third base, Lissy Gerhardt with her toe just barely touching the heavy pad. Lissy's head was turned toward the man, hair swirling with the movement, a moment's action caught in time.

Bob arrowed in. "Shouldn't she have been watching the action? Waiting for the ball to be hit?"

"Sgt. Masters was talking to her," Molly pointed out. "See? His lips are open. He's talking."

"Where's his other hand?" Kim wanted to know. "I see the one with the baseball glove. Where's his other hand?"

"It's in his pocket," Molly decided. "I'd say that's a foolish place for it to be, with another batter up."

"He was taking something out," Tiffy said flatly. "He took something out, and gave it to my daughter." _He put my daughter at risk, Mack Gerhardt. Don't you think that I'll forgive you for that. Not now. Not ever. Nor you, Tom Ryan._

"We don't know that for certain, Tiffy," Bob said, trying to smooth things over, sharing an uneasy glance with his wife. "He could have been reaching for a handkerchief."

"Handkerchiefs don't get people killed!"

_You'd be surprised what a Unit operative can do with a simple piece of linen_. Ryan kept the expression off of his face.

"There's a bit of a smile," Molly Blane pointed out. "I'd say he was pleased about something." She turned to Colonel Ryan. "Have you spoken to Maria Masters?"

"Yes." Ryan kept it short. Sgt. Masters's wife hadn't been able to tell him much through her tears. It was one of _those_ times, times when he very much regretted accepting the promotion. Hah; these days, what with the damn politics and all, anybody accepting a promotion had to be soft in the head. Easier to retire a twenty year man and collect a fat pension and head out to do some fishin' for another twenty. "Whatever it was, Sergeant Masters didn't share it with his wife." _'Cause he knew that she would be the first place that they'd go lookin'. Fortunately for us, she works as civilian support on base. They couldn't get to her before us._ "We went through her things; nothing new, and nothing that would give us any answers." His voice went flat. "Somebody had broken into their home, though, went through their things. Somebody professional did it; the lock was picked clean as a whistle."

Kim perked her head up. "Maybe they found what they were looking for." _In which case, we can go home._

Her husband gave her arm a tender squeeze. "Don't think so, honey."

"Why not—oh." Kim's face fell. If they'd found what they were looking for, Lissy Gerhardt wouldn't be missing.

Molly kept staring at the picture. "He gave her something," she decided. "I'm certain of it. Sergeant Masters gave Lissy something, and told her to keep it safe for him. I'm sure that he didn't know that anyone was watching, and that he'd be able to retrieve it." She turned to Tiffy. "Tiffy, did Lissy say anything about receiving something?"

"No…"

"She wouldn't have told, not if Sergeant Masters had asked her not to," Kim Brown put in. "Tiffy, did Lissy have anything new, maybe something that you thought she bought? A scarf, maybe, or new earrings?" She glanced at her husband. "There was a silly spy show on the other night, where the spy hid a microchip in a pair of diamond earrings. The diamonds were so big that they looked fake," she added, trying to keep the hunger out. "It was pretty silly."

_And gettin' baubles like that on a master sergeant's pay is silly, too; that what you're sayin', Ms. Brown? Better get used to the fake stuff._

But Tiffy Gerhardt looked as though she'd been struck. Her hand trembled, down in her lap where she thought no one could see it. "A locket." She turned those big blue eyes onto Tom Ryan, and he felt as though someone had shoved a cold poker up his spine. "A locket," Tiffy choked out. "She had a locket. Gold, with a little chain. I didn't even think to ask where she'd gotten it. I'd just assumed that she'd bought it at the mall…" A tear squeezed out, and she dashed it away. "Lissy hasn't been to the mall in over three weeks!"

It was a chance to put this mission to bed. "Mrs. Gerhardt, where is that locket? She have it on her?"

"No." Tiffy was shaking. "No, she lost it, I don't know where. She tried to look for it, couldn't find it this morning."

That didn't sound right. "Could they have already taken it from her? Found it somewhere, maybe in Tiffy's home?" Kim asked.

Bob dashed their hopes. "No. If that were the case, they wouldn't have taken Lissy. There would be no need to."

Ryan forced the hard-ass Unit ops colonel to take over. "That's it, then. Good chance that Sgt. Masters, knowing that he was being watched, passed the locket on to your daughter, Ms. Gerhardt, for safe-keeping. I expect he thought that he'd be able to retrieve it fairly soon. He didn't realize that they spotted the pass, or he never would have done it. He would've pulled the plug on the mission and bailed out." He pulled out his cell phone, motioning to Sgt. Brown to accompany him. "You ladies stay right here. Mrs. Gerhardt, we are going to get your daughter back."


	4. Survive

Hector Williams proved that he had good eyes. The silver glinted in the dwindling evening sun, and he pounced.

"Bro?"

"Cell phone," Sgt. Williams announced. "Not too many cell phones that people keep underneath the bushes outside of school."

"Children are always losing things," Principal Sanchez informed them. "I can show you a collection in the lost and found. Cell phones are now one of the most common items that the children lose—"

"Is it Lissy's?" Charlie asked, ignoring the woman and feeling sorrier and sorrier for Lissy Gerhardt who had to put up with the chattering every school day.

Williams scanned through the contacts. "Nope. Not unless 'Mom' has a different phone number than Tiffy Gerhardt."

Charlie bit back the inadvertent curse, afraid that it would set Mrs. Sanchez off again. Damn, but she reminded him of that nasty Spanish teacher he'd had back in high school! Woman had hated him on sight, gave him a 'C' when he was already fluent in Spanish, spoke it all the time at home. Grammar? Who needed it? Only saw that stuff in high class literature. Poetry, now, the good kind, didn't really have to use good grammar. Go for the feeling, the way it sounded. That was the thing. Grammar was secondary.

Charlie forced down the thoughts. This place was stirring up far too many memories, and it was interfering with his job.

"Dead end," Williams was saying.

"Wait a sec." Charlie picked up his head. "Ms. Sanchez, you say that you get cell phones in all the time? Did you get in any this afternoon?"

Ms. Sanchez scrunched her eyebrows, thinking. "Maybe. It's so common. Yes, I think I did. Two, I think. It was a slow day."

Charlie refused to let his hopes rise. "Can you show them to us?"

"Come with me." She led them back to her office, pulling out a well worn cardboard box from behind the counter. There were at least two dozen phones there of various sizes and styles. One beeped forlornly, indicating that it was hungry for a recharge. Charlie stared at the collection. "Which ones were from this afternoon?"

Mrs. Sanchez shook her head. "I'm sure I don't know. This children always know which one is theirs."

Williams sighed. "This may take a while."

Charlie had a better idea. "Maybe not." He pulled out his own phone and hit speed dial. "Mack?"

Fast: "You find her?"

"Not yet, man. We may have found her cell. Call her."

It only took a moment for a small pink oblong to begin warbling, a cell that was toward the top of the heap. Charlie snatched it up and answered the call. "Mack?"

"Charlie? That's the one, bro." Charlie could hear Mack fight to keep his voice steady. "Where was it?"

"Lost and found, Mack, at the school."

"We'll be right there."

* * *

Not a bad kid, for all he wanted to be an officer and a West Pointer to boot. That, Mack had to allow. The kid—only sixteen and still growing—was already as tall as Mack himself and heading up towards Jonas's height. Mack could maybe accept his daughter seeing him socially—_maybe_. And not soon. Maybe when she was thirty or so. Mack closed up his cell, putting those thoughts aside and speaking to Jonas. "They found something. We need to go."

"Can I do anything to help, sir?" Young Jimmy Woodman stood tall, ready to serve.

"Thank you, no," Jonas told him. "You've already helped by telling us what you know. If Sgt. Gerhardt's daughter does contact you—"

"Notify you; yes, sir," Jimmy acknowledged. "I'll call around, see if anyone else knows anything."

"You do that, son." Jonas appreciated the assistance, little help though it would be. Still, one never knew what could pop up… "Let's move."

* * *

Mack carefully placed his feelings into a small little corner of his mind and let the hunting instincts take over. They were not looking for his daughter. Master sergeant Mack Gerhardt was on a mission to track down a single human being, gender: female, and one who was last seen in this area. Gerhardt was an expert tracker, and all those skills would be needed.

"Footprints," he muttered, just loud enough so that the others could hear him. "Size six, maybe six and a half." _Lissy's size!_ "Another print here: a man's, maybe ten. Another: size twelve. Big sucker. Deep prints, so he's pretty hefty." He rose from his squatting position to scan the terrain. The school building had taken on a half-familiar, half-terrifying demeanor. "Lissy exited the building there," he pointed, "and walked along here."

"Her friends were waiting for her over there, a block away." Williams pointed down the street.

"Which means that they likely didn't see whoever was waiting here," Jonas observed. "Any vehicle, Mack?"

"Tough to say. No tire tracks, plenty of dust. Lots of cars moving through."

"Wouldn't be easy to grab someone and not be noticed," Grey offered. "They have some way of enticing her in?"

"Lissy wouldn't do that," Mack told him bleakly. "She knows better." _I hope. She's so upset now over Tiffy and me arguing that I don't know what she'd do._

Jonas noted the tall bushes that lined the sidewalk. "A snatch is possible. Two men, maybe some chloroform. One opens the door to a large vehicle, which blocks the view to the north and west. The bushes block the east. The other man takes her, pulls her into the vehicle."

"It would take less than a second to pull off," Grey agreed. "Only the south is open, and if luck is with them…" He let the words trail off into the dying afternoon.

Jonas didn't let them stop there. "Time is on our side. School let out at," he automatically glanced at his watch, "at two forty-five. The ladies waiting for Mack's daughter left their meeting point at approximately three PM. It is now five fifty-five, which is very little time to travel any great distance."

"Plenty of time to kill her and dump the body." Mack couldn't help torturing himself.

"And for any such body to be found," Jonas reproved. "The fact that no body has turned up in the vicinity suggests that she's still alive. And they _need_ her alive to question her."

"So where do we go from here?" Mack demanded. "You think any of those kids are going to remember seeing the vehicle here? Any of 'em check out a license plate?"

"No, but that security camera might." Grey jerked his thumb upward to the corner of the massive brick building where a black box was mounted.

Jonas nodded. "Let's go make another trip to the principal's office, children."

* * *

Principal Sanchez had already been beaten into submission by the previous visit of Grey and Williams. It took no time at all for the five soldiers to extract the contents of the security camera from her grasp.

It was an inexpensive security model, just right for a school in a town with little money to spend on fancy electronic toys. Parents screamed for better equipment, taxpayers refused to foot the bill, and the school was caught in the middle trying to do its best in an impossible situation.

Right now Mack was one of those screaming parents, despite not one word leaving his lips. These photos popping up on the computer screen in front of him and the others were all that they had to go on, and no amount of last minute recrimination was going to change that. _You're damn good at your job, Sergeant Gerhardt. Are you good enough to save your daughter's life?_

"Black van," Jonas pointed out, his deep voice cool and collected. He could have been planning a mission overseas. "It's here on the street by the exit for several screen shots."

"Here for about fifteen minutes," Williams estimated. "They arrived before school let out, and they waited."

"Which means that they knew what Lissy looked like. They were waiting for her." Mack was bleak.

"They had her picture," Brown pointed out.

That wasn't good enough for Jonas Blane. "Why here? Why as she left from school? If they knew what she looked like, it would have been easier to take her as she walked to school in the morning."

"That's right," Grey agreed. "Fewer people around. Less chance of being identified."

"They must not have realized that she had the locket until then," Blane decided. Again he glanced at his watch, not needing the time. "They arrive in the area first thing this morning, which was when we were extracting Masters. Sgt. Masters's wife is at work; they search her home while she is out. They don't find the locket, and realize that Masters didn't give it to his wife as they thought. They go to their pictures to try to figure to whom he passed the intel."

"And they settle on my daughter," Gerhardt growled. "Is that what you're saying, Jonas?"

"That is indeed what I am saying, Mack. It fits with the timeline. They search your own home while your family is away and likewise come up empty-handed. With that in mind, they choose to question Lissy to find the locket." Jonas indicated the computer screen. "Any way we can pull up a license plate? Identify the vehicle?"

Grey stared at the screen. "Looks like a Dodge Caravan, maybe 2008. Maybe 2007. Can't tell from this distance."

"Can anybody make out anything on the plates?" Mack couldn't, and it scared him. How were they going to track down a lead if they couldn't see the plates?

Jonas had the answer. "Sgt. Williams."

"Sir."

"Can you email this picture to someone at the base with a great deal of computer savvy?"

"I can, sir, and done."

"Good." Jonas stood up. "Hopefully we'll have a direction to pursue within thirty minutes."

* * *

The bastards inside were dead men. Of that, there was no doubt. The only question was, would it be within three minutes or five?

Alpha Unit had an address within fifteen minutes, not thirty. Colonel Ryan had put a top priority on the mission, knowing that a young girl's life depended on it—not to mention national security. No one knew just what Sgt. Masters had discovered, and likely even Masters himself hadn't known. If he had, Jonas reasoned, he wouldn't have entrusted it to Mack Gerhardt's daughter. He would have come straight in, cover be damned. So the tech support people had put a rush job on blowing up the pictures taken by the school security camera and had tracked down the license plate in a matter of minutes. From there it hadn't been hard to come up with an address.

The rat hole was an old brick building on the outskirts of town. A broken sign lying on the cracked sidewalk suggested that some time in the past the building had housed a printing business. Whether it had been prosperous or not was something that the team would never know. Right now it was more important to know the entrances and exits, how many floors, and whether a young girl was inside, waiting terrified for her father and his fellow soldiers to rescue her.

Williams slipped back to the group huddled behind the rusting car in front. "Side door, not in use," he reported. "Lot of trash blocking the exit. They're not getting out that way."

Brown had the other one. "Back door, clean. That's the one they're using. I didn't see any guards, though."

Jonas lowered his own binoculars. "They sure as hell ain't using the front door," he said softly. "It's blocked up as much as the side one." He came to a decision. "We go in the back door. We slide in quiet, take out however many we can before it hits the fan, then we finish big. Questions?" He looked at each of his men.

They were all ready. Each one held an automatic, and each one was decked out in battle gear. It was a good thing that this was a deserted end of town, Jonas reflected grimly. One look at them, and the average citizen would be calling 911, convinced that World War III had begun.

Didn't matter. They were going into battle, no matter that this was American soil, and they were going to bring out a young girl to her father.

Jonas caught and held Mack Gerhardt's eyes. _I'm putting you in the rear_.

Pupils narrowed. Point was Gerhardt's position, and that was his daughter inside. _Like hell._

_Or you sit this one out_.

It was a long moment.

Mack Gerhardt dropped his gaze first.

Jonas didn't waste time on his victory. "Let's go," was all he said. "Cool Breeze, you're on point. Take us in."

The dying light of evening only helped to cover their approach, shadows among shadows. The ground was hard and rocky beneath their boots, and Williams's foot slipped on a stray stone. He righted himself without a second thought, and it slowed them not one whit. The feral cat on the far fence made more noise.

The building sounded deserted, and there were no lights to give anything away. Jonas felt a momentary disquiet; was Gerhardt's daughter really here? Was this a wild goose chase?

Nothing to do but go forward. Even if the girl wasn't here, the building could still yield valuable clues as to where she—and the national security information—was. They weren't about to stop now.

Brown slowed to squirt a drop of oil onto the hinges of the back door, preventing any sound from giving them away. The door might not have squeaked, but then again it might have. They weren't going to take that chance. One by one they slipped inside, allowing the door to close quietly behind them. Enemy stronghold: _breached_.

Ears strained to hear: creaking of cooling struts in the night. Rustling of rats building a nest in the room to the right. Whistling of a breeze stealing in through the broken pane of glass in the distant room ahead. They moved ahead, silently, listening to the sounds of the night.

Two staircases: one leading up and the other down. Which direction? For Jonas, it was an easy decision to make. Upstairs had windows, ways for outsiders to peer and crawl in. Downstairs was a ground-covered basement with no way for a hostage to escape. It was dark inside a basement, with all the despair that darkness wrought. It was another technique to break a hostage, to find out where a small gold locket might be. Brown led them down the steps, pausing on each one to ensure that no creaking would give away their presence.

Then they caught it: a girl's cry. Not a sobbing of a broken heart, not a wail of fury over a social slight.

A cry of pain.

More than one pair of eyes turned to Gerhardt, wondering if the father could keep it together, if his training would hold.

It did. The hands trembled, and the eyes grew cold, but the training held. It was the best chance that Lissy Gerhardt had to get out of this alive, and her father was going to give her that chance no matter what it cost him inside. His training held.

Jonas nodded grimly. This would not take long. Hand signals flashed: Gerhardt and Brown on the left, Williams and Grey cover the right. He himself would take out the center, where the hostage likely was secured. On the count of three:

One.

Two.

Thre—

_Blam!_

If anyone had cared to later, they could have determined how many shots were fired by totting up the quantity of missing ammunition from each Unit soldier's kit. Sound would not have sufficed; each shot muffled the noise of the others, so much that it was only with difficulty that anyone could have heard more than two shots. Anyone in the neighborhood would have mistaken it for a badly tuned car engine backfiring.

To Mack and Lissy Gerhardt, it didn't matter. What did matter was that two bodies dropped to the floor, instantly dead and riddled with holes.

Lissy herself was tied to a chair in the middle of the empty room. The first thing that they all saw was the black mark across her face in the shape of a hand, a mark that extended across a swollen eye. A trickle of blood had seeped and dried over her lip, a lip that was trembling. Clothing was torn, her tee ripped across her shoulder to expose the lace bra beneath. Jonas chanced a look at one of her captors. The man had been caught in the middle of taking down his own pants, and there was little doubt in Jonas's mind as to the next tactic they had intended to use to get the girl to talk. _Their deaths were too quick_. He toed the weapons away from the pair, in case either one had survived the slaughter.

Secure the perimeter: Brown, Williams, and Grey immediately swung around to cover the door, in case anyone else in the building heard the commotion and came running. It would have been hard to miss, but there was no response. A small part of Jonas Blane decided that there was no other enemy soldier in the building, only these two now chilling on the floor.

Mission accomplished: package secure. Damaged, sure, but secure. Gerhardt's knife was out in a flash, slicing through the ropes that held his daughter to the chair. There were more bruises, Jonas saw when the rest of the girl's blouse fell away. There had been manhandling, likely during the kidnapping as well as after. If he tried, he would be able to identify fingerprints on her arm from where they'd grabbed her.

At the moment, it didn't matter. Lissy clung to her father, tears flowing, unable to speak. Mack held her close, newly aware of how precious she was to him—and how close he'd come to losing her forever.

This was not a secure location. Jonas Blane needed to get his men and the victim out of here and back to the base where she could receive medical attention—and they could find Masters's locket with its all-important cache of information. A clean up team could take care of this location and look for evidence of other enemy soldiers, but Jonas's mission now was to return to base with the victim and her information.

"Move out," he told them. "Cool Breeze: point. I'll take our—" he checked his language, "—I'll cover our back. Dirt Diver, in the middle." With the victim.

It was tight squeeze in the vehicle with five men and one girl, but not one of them complained. Grey put himself behind the wheel to drive. Jonas pulled out his comm. link. "Snake Doc to base."

"Base here, Snake Doc. Situation?"

"Package acquired. Send a clean up team."

"Will do, Snake Doc, and I will inform Dirty Mama. You have any more intel for me?" _Where's the damn locket?_

Jonas glanced at Lissy Gerhardt, still clinging to her father. "That's a negative, base."

"You'd best hurry it up, Snake Doc. We may have a situation."

"A situation?"

"We'll fill you in upon arrival. Base out."

Jonas closed down the link. "Dirt Diver." It was a command, even with its brevity.

Gerhardt was not happy, but he was a Unit soldier. He snugged his daughter tighter, welcoming the tight quarters of the vehicle that kept them from swaying with the curves in the road. "Lissy?"

"Da-daddy?"

Jonas could hear the pain in the father's voice. "Lissy, what did those men want?" As if Master Sergeant Gerhardt didn't know.

More tears. More blood: the cut on her lip opened up again when she licked them in fear.

"Lissy?" Jonas hadn't known that Gerhardt could speak so tenderly.

"Daddy, they hurt me!" It came out in a wail.

There might have been a tear in Gerhardt's own eye, but Jonas wasn't about to swear to it to his superiors. The muscles in Gerhardt's arms surrounding his daughter did tighten. "I know, baby. I know. They won't ever do that again."

Time to take control, because Dirt Diver wasn't. "Ms. Gerhardt." In deep tones.

It helped. Jonas could see the girl visibly work to control herself, to pull herself together. For all she'd been through, she was still a military brat, brought up with military discipline. She was Mack Gerhardt's daughter.

"What did those men want?"

The tears flowed, but they didn't stop Lissy Gerhardt. "They…they wanted my locket. The one that Sgt. Masters gave to me. He said to keep it safe for him, to pretend that it was mine until he asked for it back." A choked back sob. "I thought that he wanted me to keep it so that his wife wouldn't find it. It was going to be a present for her!" Lissy could barely get the last words out.

Gerhardt's arms tightened reflexively once again, and Jonas nodded. It fit. It fit all too damn well. The enemy would have expected Masters to hand over the locket to his wife, just in case, so Masters had fooled them by passing it to someone else. "Where is the locket now? Did you tell them the location?" He wouldn't have blamed her one bit if she had. Grown men would have broken under what she had just gone through.

"I lost it!" she wailed. "I didn't know what to tell them!"

"It's okay, baby," Gerhardt murmured, calming her, kissing the top of her head. His eyes met those of his team leader.

It was not okay. Jonas deepened his voice. "What _did _you tell them?" _Which direction are we going to chase?_

Lissy struggled to keep calm. "I told them that I lost it, Uncle Jonas. And…and then they hit me." _Over and over again…_

If Gerhardt could have gone back and killed those men again, he would have.

Jonas didn't have that luxury. "What else did they ask, Ms. Gerhardt?"

"They…they asked me…about what I did. When I lost the necklace."

It made sense. The girl lost the necklace and her captors wanted to find it. They would hunt in every place that she had been. They'd already searched the Gerhardt house, now they'd search the neighborhood and shoot anyone who got in their way. "When did you realize it was missing?"

Another tear, dashed away by knuckles with scraped skin. Lissy Gerhardt had not gone quietly to her doom. "This morning. I couldn't find it."

"When did you last see it?"

"Yesterday. I wore it to school."

A small window to explore. Jonas kept going. "Did you have it when you came home from school yesterday?"

"I…I think so. I'm pretty sure."

Jonas let the uncertainty pass. "Where did you go after school?"

"Mrs. Brown's house. I promised to watch Serena and Teddy for a couple of hours, so that Mrs. Brown could go grocery shopping."

Jonas exchanged a glance with Bob Brown. Searching the man's own home would be next. "Did you have it when you left?"

"I…I…think so. Maybe. I'm not sure."

_Big_ uncertainty. Searching the Brown residence took on a higher priority. "Where did you go next?"

"Home." That was definite, and it meant that the Gerhardt home would also be subject to search.

There was still another topic to broach. "Did you tell them that?"

No need to ask who 'they' were. Lissy's lip quivered. "Yes." _I'm sorry! I'm sorry!_

"You have nothing to be ashamed of, Ms. Gerhardt," Jonas told her before Mack Gerhardt could say anything. "Your job was to survive until your father and I could come for you. You did admirably."


	5. Personal

"We have possibilities for where the necklace could have been lost." Master Sergeant Jonas Blane summed it up for the group. "The Gerhardt residence, and the Brown residence. There is also the less likely chance that Ms. Gerhardt could have lost it at her school or anywhere along the road that she walked, however she—and we—believe otherwise. Therefore we have two houses to search before we expand our radius of interest. Any questions?"

There were none.

This was not the usual grouping, and it was not comprised only of Unit soldiers. The best eyes to spot something out of place were those who inhabited the homes, the ones who routinely picked up this and that after children and husbands, thus Kim Brown was accompanying her husband. Molly Blane too had been in each house often enough to be of assistance, and she was part of the group.

Tiffy Gerhardt was not. Both Mack and Tiffy Gerhardt were in the infirmary with their daughter, convincing themselves that she would be all right and agonizing over every new cut or bruise that revealed itself. It didn't matter that none of the injuries were serious of themselves. All the damage was on the inside, where it didn't show. There would be many nights ahead of all three with nightmares.

Colonel Ryan too had creases lining tired eyes. He had had words with his men earlier, and they were not good ones. "Masters was infiltrating a local terrorist group," he informed the soldiers—but not their wives. The Unit soldiers had not needed to know that bit of intelligence before their mission, but they did now. "He set himself up as a disillusioned soldier, back from a tour in Afghanistan, someone who wanted to fight on the side of the Taliban. We knew that the cell was in the area, but not where, and we didn't know the players." He nodded to Blane. "They'll have to move now. You cleared out a bunch of the bastards, but what you found suggests that there's a whole mess more of 'em. The clean up team pretty much verified that the building where you found Ms. Gerhardt was their hangout. They'll be wanting to replace a good deal of hardware that we've relieved them of."

"Which also means," said Blane in his deep tones, "that their current whereabouts are unknown."

"There is that," Ryan agreed.

Brown hit the other question. "What intel was Masters after? I'm assuming that you didn't assign him to just hunt down a single cell."

"Good question, sergeant," Ryan said. "You're right; there's more. The original stuff that he passed suggested that there was going to be a major offensive somewhere in the mid-west. He was going to make another pass the day of the picnic. You'll recall that I too attended that little shindig for a time, but Masters failed to make the pass. I assumed that he hadn't gotten the intel that he thought he could, and was going back out after it. It appears I was wrong."

"Or he was," Brown said thoughtfully. "Masters may have gotten into more than he thought. He may not have realized it until too late."

"Which means that we still need to find the necklace that he gave to Mack's daughter." Blane summed it up. "And the most likely place for her to have lost it is in her house."

"Or mine." Bob Brown grimaced. "Who's up for peering through a dirty diaper bag?"

* * *

"Halt!" Blane barked.

Both Molly Blane and Charlie Grey froze.

"Top?"

"The lock's been tampered with." The tiny silver scrapings were a clear indication to anyone who knew what to look for. Master Sergeant Jonas Blane knew what to look for.

They were outside Gerhardt's own home, the one he'd spent the last several years in, raising two daughters and trying to keep a wife happy. The Unit soldier had repaired more leaky faucets than he knew he had. Every blade of grass had his name on it. He had put a key into the lock of the front door several thousand times, sometimes during the day but more often in the dead of night, toting home a rifle that wasn't just for show. Now there were bright and shiny scratches on that door lock, and they had more than a little significance.

Blane also knew what to do in this situation, one where a civilian—his wife—was present. "Molly."

"Jonas?"

"Do exactly as I say. Go back to the car and turn the engine on. If you hear gunfire, drive off immediately. If Grey and I aren't out in five minutes, drive immediately away from here and call Colonel Ryan. Understand?"

"I'm going." She gave him a look that said plenty: _Be careful_. _I have plans for the rest of our lives._

"I will," Blane muttered under his breath. "I will." He pulled out his comm. link. "Cool Breeze."

He could see the other group halfway down the block and pulling into Brown's own driveway. No one emerged from the vehicle, and Blane knew that Brown was holding back his wife as well as Williams.

"Snake Doc?"

"We have a situation, Cool Breeze. Target appears to have been breached. Repeat: target may have been comprised. Proceed with caution."

"Acknowledged. Out."

The emergent communication had been dealt with. Blane switched the channel. "Snake Doc to Home Base."

"Go ahead, Snake Doc." Sgt. Medawar, as always, was ready.

"Be advised that the target may have been breached. Repeat: target may have been breached. We are proceeding with caution."

"Acknowledged, Snake Doc." There was a pause. "Back up is on the way."

"Thank you, Home Base. Snake Doc out."

This had just gotten more personal, and Blane did not like it one little bit. There hadn't been much time between the rescue of Lissy Gerhardt and Alpha Team's arrival at the Gerhardt homestead. There was a very real possibility that the enemy soldiers were inside the house at this very minute. Blane listened with his ear to the door.

His hand went up in a silent signal to Grey: one inside. Two. Three. Three intruders, going through the contents of the house, hunting for the locket. Blane wished them luck, for if they found the necklace Blane and Grey would take it away from them and thank them for their hard work in locating it. It would make life easier for the Unit men.

Grey was not standing around, waiting for orders. He sidled under the front window, crouched over to keep from being seen. He too put his ear to the wall, to echo-locate the enemy inside. One more, tossing everything in one of the bedrooms, and Blane would just bet that the bedroom belonged to one of Gerhardt's daughters. Four, then; four enemy soldiers. Blane motioned Grey back.

This would be tricky. There were two of them, and four of the enemy, and Blane wanted to do as little damage to the furniture as possible. _Tiffy won't thank you for her grandmother's rocker reduced to kindling, sergeant._ To make matters worse, one or possibly more by now had moved into other rooms, protected from the surprise assault. Blane wished that he could call Brown and Williams from their own part of the mission but if the locket had been mislaid in Brown's home? They might as well hand the necklace over to the terrorists on a silver tray. Not about to happen.

No help for it. This would be fast, and they'd either walk out unharmed or not at all. Jonas spared a moment to gesture at his wife in the driver's seat of the car: _go. Don't wait_. A growl of an engine turning over let him know that this time, at least, she hadn't argued. A second mechanized growl told him that Kim Brown had received and carried out the same orders.

Gun drawn, Blane checked the knob to the door. Good: unlocked. The men inside had failed to lock it against just this occurrence, and Blane would make use of their carelessness. Grey positioned himself opposite his team leader, nerves rock steady and ready.

Blane held up his hand, the one with the gun. Three, two, one—

Blane shoved the door open. One hastily aimed shot, and he dove to the floor. A second shot, and another body jerked in shock. It was only then that he saw that his aim of his first shot had been true. A third body flopped over the first: Grey had been equally as accurate.

A shout; another shot buzzing out from the back room close enough for a shave. Blane shoulder-rolled over, aiming for the sofa. Stuffing fluffed out in response to the next shot but the bullet failed to penetrate through the entire set of cushions. _Sorry, Mrs. Gerhardt. Gonna be a bit of damage to the premises._

Another shot, and a gurgle. The last body staggered out, blood squirting from his neck. The man's eyes rolled up into his head, and he crashed to the carpeted hallway floor. Grey blew across his automatic artistically, taking credit for the kill.

Silence; the house was empty of enemy soldiers. Blane grimaced. There were three blood stains on the living room carpet, and another spreading through the hall. Getting those out would be a problem that even house cleaning specialists wouldn't be able to conquer, and Blane didn't foresee bringing home young Ms. Gerhardt into such surroundings. There would be new carpets laid, no matter what the cost.

Grey spoke. "They didn't find it, Top. If they had, they would have been out of here."

Blane had to agree. "You start here. Look through everything. See if you can find that locket. I'll head down the street and see if Brown and Williams need back up."

"Got it. The back up should be here any minute. They can help search." Grey started going through drawers, concentrating on the ones that hadn't yet been touched. "They can also see about putting this place back together again. It's a mess." _And remove the bodies_, he left unsaid.

There would be thorough searching of those bodies, Blane knew. Fingerprints would be taken, and photos circulated. Their movements would be traced, hopefully back to someone higher in the chain of terrorist command. If nothing else, they'd eliminated a few more enemies of civilization.

* * *

The key in his pocket helped. The click sound loud to Bob Brown's ears, but he knew that it was no more than a pin dropping onto a cushion. He eased the door opened, listening for sounds in his home.

The living room was a mess. The furniture had been upturned, and the stuffing ripped out. Cushions were thrown everywhere. Three drawers from the china cabinet had been pulled from their nest and their contents dumped onto the floor. Plates had been pulled from their spots on the shelving, and Brown bit back a curse. One of those broken plates had been an heirloom from Kim's grandmother. It had ridden across the Great Plains during the expansion west. It had survived famine, drought, Indian attacks—it hadn't survived this.

He could hear the man—a singleton—in the back bedroom, in Teddy's nursery, and he gave thanks that his family was safe. Teddy and Serena were still on base under the watchful eye of some privates commandeered for babysitting duty, and Kim was speeding her way back to base. That fear was off of his mind. He eased through the kitchen and opened the back door for Hector Williams to join him.

Communication stayed silent. One finger went up—one enemy only—and pointed toward the back bedrooms. Williams nodded, and offered to lead. Brown shook his head. He _wanted_ this bastard who had invaded the sanctity of his home!

They crept up on the noises in the bedroom, Williams trailing him. Brown knew exactly where to put his feet so that the floor boards didn't creak, and Williams copied his every move.

The man wasn't trying to be quiet. He had no idea that he wasn't the only person in the house, and he was looking for something small and shiny. Brown could imagine the thoughts in the man's head: the necklace had dropped off an unsuspecting neck, only to be snatched up by an infant who toddled off to his room to drop it into a toy box.

The man clearly was not a father, had not raised children, or he would have known that the necklace wouldn't have gone to Teddy's room. It would have gone into Teddy's mouth, which meant that they would be watching Teddy's diaper's very closely for the next few days. Could an x-ray reveal if that were the case? Brown resolved to ask. It would prevent a very stinky job.

Back to the mission at hand. It would be more than easy to put a single bullet into the back of the man's head, but that would prevent a thorough interrogation after capture. More: they had just finished paying for the nursery carpet, and Brown wasn't at all certain that even the best carpet cleaners would be able to get out the mess if a few cups of blood leaked out of the man's head and onto the deep shag. Sergeant Bob Brown had better uses for his paycheck.

The enemy's gun was tucked into his waistband, useless until drawn. This was a golden opportunity, and Brown resolved to make the most of it. He holstered his own weapon and gestured to Williams, communicating his plan. Williams nodded.

Silence was golden, and the carpet hushed his footsteps. He took care to keep his shadow from alerting the man, creeping up from behind. Another few inches, three more…

Brown grabbed the man from behind just as the enemy decided that the necklace could be hidden in an open package of disposable diapers. One long arm snaked around the man's neck and the other went for the carotid, pressing hard. Williams moved in on the pair, snatching the deadly automatic weapon from the man's belt before he could pull it out himself.

Another minute, more pressure; Brown felt the man slump as consciousness left the body. He held his pose for another long moment: it wouldn't be the first man who'd tried to sucker an attacker into letting down his guard too soon. Besides, this man left a hell of a mess to clean up, and he _deserved_ the headache that he'd wake up to! Brown had no regrets over the takedown.

Blane's voice floated in. "Clear?"

"Clear," Brown called back. "We're in Teddy's room."

Blane entered, his large frame momentarily blocking the light from the hall. "Anything?"

"We just cleaned house," Williams told him, indicating the unconscious man on the floor of the nursery. "The hired help was doing a lousy job."

"I see." Blane looked over the room. "Just the one?"

"Just the one," Brown confirmed. He frowned and jerked his thumb toward the rest of the house. "He trashed my living room, and then he started in here. He was still looking, so he hadn't found anything. How about yours?"

"Four," Blane replied. "They too were still looking."

Williams looked grim. "We still think the necklace is here?"

"Unless you have a better idea." Blane was open to all thoughts.

"Lost and found at the school?" Then he shook his head. "Not a chance. If she lost it there, some other kid likely picked it up and kept it. We'll never get it back."

Blane looked around at the devastation. There would be a lot of work ahead of someone to put this home back together, and Blane didn't relish the thought of being the one to announce the news. Best to allow the forensics teams to go through each home and sift through the debris before permitting either the Gerhardt or the Brown family to return home. Another thought: he would recommend to Colonel Ryan that a detail be ordered to do the best they could to straighten things up a bit before allowing the ladies to return. The wives didn't have to know that all the work they'd put into making homes for their families had been ruined. They'd see too much of it soon enough.

Grey joined them. " Clean up squads have arrived," he announced. "Little late for the gun play, but they were ready. They're already working on Mack's place, looking for the package." He scanned the territory. "Nice. I'd fire your housekeeper if I were you, Brown."

Brown grimaced, and indicated the still unconscious body on the floor. "I did."

"Not soon enough. You're not gonna let Kim back here, are you?"

"Not unless I have to," Brown told him. "Nor the kids, though I don't relish the thought of keeping them on the base proper. No playgrounds, and at this age, that's a must have."

Grey poked his nose into Brown's daughter's room. "This one looks okay. They didn't get into here."

Brown followed him in. "You see anything?"

"Not me." Grey scanned the chest of drawers, noting the careful lining up of several toy store items, all made of plastic and glittery to catch a child's eye. "She practicing to catch a rich man?"

"Won't be you, my friend. Won't be you." Brown looked over the collection, pulling out each drawer and poking through to make certain that the all important locket wasn't there. "Serena's latest obsession is shopping. She wants to be a salesgirl when she grows up. She found that she can get a discount from the store if she does."

"I wasn't aware that a lady of her tender years knew what a discount was." Blane followed them in.

"She doesn't, but that's not stopping her." Brown again looked through the collection of items to be 'sold'. "Damn. This was the best spot to look." He sighed. "We'll have to keep looking."

* * *

Colonel Ryan was not happy. "CIA just confirmed: six more terrorists slipped in through Dulles, and three through O'Hare. Two got caught at Customs but the rest got past before anyone could say 'boo'. Now, we don't know for certain that they're headed in this direction…"

"But we don't know that they're not." Blane finished the sentence for his superior. He leaned back in his chair, Ryan's desk in front of him, regarding the colonel and thinking his own thoughts. His eyes automatically strayed to the map on the wall that outlined the Middle Eastern region.

"Whatever they think Ted Masters had must have been kind of important to create this much of a ruckus," Gerhardt drawled, his blue eyes cold as ice. His own chair was balanced on two legs only, as on edge as the man himself. "Somebody somewhere is pretty upset."

There were more lines creasing Gerhardt's brow than usual, Ryan noted. "We're seein' some movement in the mountains bordering Afghanistan and Pakistan," he added. "Little more than usual, that is." Ryan sighed heavily. "I'd sure appreciate somebody comin' up with an idea as to where that damn necklace could be. I don't think any of those fellows are gonna go back to where they belong and leave law-abiding folks alone before it's found."

"We've been through yours and my houses twice over," Brown grouched to Gerhardt. "It's not there."

"What about letting the wives go home?" Williams asked. "Wouldn't they be able to spot anything faster than any of us?"

"Not with those terrorists comin' into the area, Williams," Ryan declared. "Gettin' onto the base will be more difficult with us on alert, but I ain't about to chance it. The word on the street is that the fellows that are on the way are a mite smarter than average. No, the ladies will be staying here where it's safe until we get this cleared up. Along with your kids, Brown," he added with a half-glare. "The pair of 'em are busy enough to wear out half a dozen privates, keepin' 'em entertained. I've half a mind to put those two in charge of boot camp to weed out the sissies."

"It's how I keep my girlish figure," Brown told him. The humor fell flat. Brown let it lay there, on the linoleum floor.

"I don't think…" Gerhardt trailed off. A light sparked in his eye.

Blane came on point. "Mack?"

"If it's not in your house or mine, Brown, then it has to be either at Lissy's school or somehow connected with it," Gerhardt mused.

"But if somebody picked it up—" Williams started.

Gerhardt cut him off. "What if they didn't? What if we could find out _who_ picked it up?"

"How are we going to tell who…" Brown did his own trailing off. "The cameras," he said flatly. "The school security cameras. They monitor every entrance and exit."

"And the hallways," Gerhardt added triumphantly. "Lookee' here," he told them, letting the chair back onto all four legs. "We trace all the possible spots that Lissy could have been. She knew that she had the necklace when she left school, so we track along the path that she walked."

"But what if she dropped it somewhere in school, and somebody picked it up?" Grey asked.

"We still got a shot at finding it," Gerhardt told him. "We go through the camera footage, looking for anyone who bends down and picks something up. We question those kids."

Ryan nodded, satisfaction oozing. "They might not come forward with it, but they ain't likely to lie to our faces about finding that necklace, not when they hear that a few dozen terrorist types are comin' into town loaded for bear. I think you're onto something, Gerhardt." He made the decision. "Move on out, men."


	6. Locket

Bob Brown hung his head, exhausted, sitting next to Jonas Blane who looked equally discouraged. Both had spent the last few hours pouring through the photos with not so much as a break from the sterile meeting room they been assigned to for the task. "Nothing. I've looked at so much school camera footage that I can't see straight." He indicated the list that he had compiled. "You might as well go through the entire school. Every single kid there has leaned over, bent down, or otherwise picked something up off of the floor despite the tiles being dirty enough to qualify for a major portion of the Sahara Desert."

"At least you got the inside job." Gerhardt stomped in and shook the rain off of his poncho. He heard the last words of Brown's plaint. He shook the poncho off a bit more thoroughly, trying to aim it in Brown's direction. "It's a mite soggy out there. Not dry, like here inside."

"Hey! Stop getting me wet."

Williams followed Gerhardt in, trailed by Grey, both dripping rainwater along the floor. "If that locket is out there, none of us could find it. We found six silver necklaces, three rings, fourteen pierced earrings without backs, twenty three earring backs, three belt buckles—"

"Okay, okay," Brown grumbled.

"He hasn't even gotten to the non-jewelry items we found." Grey slid out of his own poncho and hung it up on a hook to drip dry. "I could probably build a car out of what we saw."

"Really? A whole car?"

"Well…maybe a motorcycle, man. Pretty impressive stuff that people lose." Grey flopped onto the chair beside Brown. "I'm in the wrong business. I should just collect stuff that people lose, and sell it. I'd make a fortune inside of six months, easy."

Williams too put his backside onto a chair, leaning back and stretching tired muscles. "This sounded like a good idea, yesterday. Today, I'm not so sure."

"Like to see you come up with something better," Gerhardt grumbled. "Not your family that's cooped up here on base. Not your daughter lying in an infirmary bed, scared out of her wits."

Williams held up his hands. "No contest, Mack. Just want this done and over with." He jerked his thumb at the junior member of the team. "'Sides, Brown over here is just as antsy, with less cause. I hear his kids are driving everyone crazy, including Kim."

"I'm afraid to go near her," Brown admitted. "Teddy is cranky and won't nap, and Serena wants to play with everything she sees. She managed to get into the Commissary, and has been asking to buy everything in sight. Kim glares at me every chance she gets." He indicated the camera footage in front of him. "Even this is better."

"What would be better," Blane reminded them, "would be to find that locket. I too would like to return my wife to her home instead of wondering if there's enough room in the enlisted men's quarters to put up for another night. And I would like my goddaughter to be able to return to her own bedroom without fearing for her life." He indicated the photos on the table yet to be peered at. "Take your pick, gentleman. There's still plenty for all."

* * *

Charlie Grey balanced his tray against the table where Bob and Kim Brown sat trying to keep two small children under control after a long and exhausting rainy day indoors. Teddy sat on Bob's lap; army bases rarely came equipped with highchairs for infants, and Bob had already given up trying to eat until his son was fed and preferably asleep. Kim was doing double duty by trying to feed Teddy and cut up Serena's food at the same time. Neither parent was in a good mood.

Grey intended to improve matters somewhat. "Kim, Bob, Hector scored us the back room. Jonas and Molly are already there, along with Mack and Jen. You can let us help with Serena, and let Teddy crawl around on the floor without escaping. It's the carpeted dining room; it's safe for the kid, and we can close the door to the rest of the cafeteria."

"Reprieve!" Bob took notice at that, and several soldiers seated as far away as they could from the young family brightened as well. "Which one?"

"The one on the right." Grey pointed with his elbow, his hands full of food on the tray. He leaned over to Serena. "C'mon, honey. You come with me. Take your tray, and let your mom and dad take your brother, okay?"

Serena's face lit up. "Okay." She frowned, trying to lift her tray. "It's heavy."

"You shouldn't have gotten two desserts, Serena," Kim scolded, her attention on lifting her son into her arms. Teddy gurgled gleefully, smearing food-stained lips against her cheek with a wet and sticky kiss. Kim ignored the mess with an aplomb that only an experienced mother could achieve. "Bob, can you get the rest?"

"Right." Bob would carry six trays if it meant not dealing with baby food. Every break he'd taken today had been consumed with child care, which meant that he hadn't yet had a moment for himself. "Serena, you follow Uncle Charlie."

"I can take my milk," Serena announced, lifting the glass off of her tray, "and the ice cream."

"How about just the ice cream, sweetie?" Grey suggested, taking the nearly full glass from her. It wasn't a question, not if he didn't want the milk to end up splattered on the floor. Grey replaced the glass onto the tray and lifted it with one hand. "You can get the door for me."

"Okay." Serena led the way toward the dining room that Grey had indicated, pushing open the door and nearly dumping her ice cream onto the floor. She righted the dish just in time, beating out Hector's leap to get the bowl by a split second. Williams settled for holding the door open for the rest of the caravan.

Alpha Team was a team, emphasis on _team_. The Brown children were in and eating before Bob could say thank you.

"It's been a long time since I've had a baby on my lap," Molly told him, "and I've missed it."

Jonas lifted his eyebrows. "I hope you aren't getting any ideas, woman."

"I am talking about grandbabies, Jonas." Molly cuddled Teddy in her arms, making faces at him. "Give me that spoon, Kim. Bob, you go ahead and eat your fill. I'll take care of this youngster, and thank you for the privilege." She looked around. "Mack, what about Tiffy?"

The scowl had almost vanished. Molly's question brought it back. "She's staying with Lissy."

Molly nodded, not fazed by Mack Gerhardt's glower. "Your daughter's doing better, I trust?"

"Yeah." It was a grudging admission, directed less at the senior wife than at the men who had kidnapped his daughter. It had been a close call, and how close none of them cared to think about. The sight of that man unbuckling his belt… Gerhardt swallowed hard, swallowing his anger along with the fuel to stoke his body. The job wasn't yet done. The locket hadn't been recovered and until it was, he wouldn't rest. He stabbed a chunk of meat and shoved it into his mouth. He remembered his manners. "Both Tiffy and I thought she'd do better in the infirmary for another day, since we can't take her home. More people around. She's still scared. They keep the lights on."

"Not such a bad idea," Kim put in. "Last night was a challenge with these two in base quarters. I made Bob get Teddy's crib from home, since we couldn't stay there, but he was up half the night for the strange sounds all around. Serena crawled into the bed with Bob and I, and it was tight quarters. Maybe I should have done the same for Teddy," she sighed. "He might have slept better, and the rest of us as well."

"Still, better here and safe than at home." Bob didn't complete the statement: _waiting for the terrorists to attack_. Then he looked at his infant son, and his active young daughter—and his exhausted wife. "Uh…maybe." He looked hopefully at Kim. "You think they'll sleep better tonight? Maybe they got tired out today?"

Serena, however, had other ideas and dinner—and ice cream—had given her renewed energy. "I want to go shopping," she announced.

"Shopping," Kim echoed, trying to keep the dismay and exhaustion out of her voice. "Honey, maybe tomorrow. Maybe we can home tomorrow, and you can go shopping there."

That wasn't what Serena had in mind, and she had already mastered her skills in Advanced Wheedling. She slipped her hand into the nearest soldier—it happened to be Charlie—and looked up hopefully. "Will you take me shopping, Uncle Charlie?"

It was an enemy that no soldier could withstand. Sergeant Charles Grey had faced down machine guns, grenades, even uranium-laced bombs, yet nothing was as terrifying as disappointing one little trusting child. She was 'family' in a way that no one outside the Unit could understand.

It wasn't only Serena. It was the look on Kim's face that said _please_. It was the look on Bob Brown's face that said that looking at security camera footage to find the locket so that Lissy Gerhardt could go back to her school in safety was a priority over a little girl's playtime.

Still, Sgt. Grey tried. "Uh…Molly?"

"Outside, in the mud? I don't think so. Has it even stopped raining?" Molly sat back in her chair, cuddling Teddy and giving him a small cracker to wave about in his chubby fist. "Serena, you can go shopping tomorrow. I'll even take you to the commissary."

"Thank you, Aunt Molly, but I have my own store," Serena said gravely, trying her best to behave nicely.

"I know you do, but we can't go home right now, sweetie," Kim tried to tell her.

"Not _that_ store, Mommy."

"Oh. Oh, dear." Kim tried to explain. "Serena, it's muddy outside. It's been raining. You'll get dirty."

The look that her daughter imposed upon her stated quite clearly that Serena was more than prepared to get filthy and wet in order to fulfill her self-imposed responsibilities to her imaginary storefront. Sacrificing the pristine whiteness of the knees of her pants was simply another aspect of her life, and one that she could happily live with, even if her mother felt otherwise.

Charlie too acquired a different perspective on things. "She wants to go outside and play?"

"In the _mud_," Kim informed him. "We went over to the base training area this morning, near the woods, before it started to rain. Colonel Ryan assigned a couple of men to guard the area, once he saw that Serena needed some time to be active. I think he said something about punishment detail," she added faintly. "I had hoped that it would wear Serena out, so that she'd be quieter tonight."

Mud did not upset Sgt. Grey. Given the choice between being outside in the mud and attending a button-down, choke-collar black tie event, Carlito would take the mud any time.

In this case, Sgt. Grey was looking at several hours of staring at photos of school children, trying to determine whether or not any in each picture had picked something up off of the school floor, and if that item had the potential to be a small gold-colored locket formerly belonging to Lissy Gerhardt and, before that, Sergeant Ted Masters. He would be seated in a hard plastic chair, with no hope of reprieve until they either finished or came up with a better lead. He would have to sit _still_.

Outside, either with mud, versus sterile sitting in place staring. No contest. "Top?"

"Go," Jonas told him, knowing that it would be the best way to keep Brown on task. To be honest, Sgt. Brown was better than Sgt. Grey at scanning the photos. Each man had their own set of skills, and making best use of his personnel was something that Jonas Blane had always been good at.

Grey broke out into a smile. He held out his hand to Serena. "Would mademoiselle like to shop?"

"Yes!" Serena grabbed the offered hand, and they were off.

Bob looked over the remaining adults. "I've got one more to pawn off," he offered innocently. "Any takers?"

* * *

Gerhardt leaned back in his chair and stretched. A pile of security photos still sat in front of him. "_I_ should have offered to take your daughter up on her request, Brown. A little mud would feel pretty good right about now. That, and a hot shower afterwards."

"You can take turns," Jonas told him, "after we complete this task."

Gerhardt's face darkened, remembering just why he was sitting here. "Yeah." He pulled another photo closer. "Hey, this one shows Lissy." He frowned; there was something wrong with the picture.

Williams didn't look up from his computer screen. His job was to blow up any photo that looked interesting to see if they could determine what was being picked up from the floor. "If you want, I'll photoshop it later, crop it into an eight by ten glossy," he offered.

"You already have plans to photoshop half the kids in those pictures," Brown told him. "You're going to go into business for yourself, selling to all the fathers on base."

"Naw. Just a few that have kids this age. Most everyone around here has kids that are younger. I'd go broke."

"You'd get court-martialed for breaking cover," Jonas observed, knowing that Williams had no intention of carrying out his idea.

Williams kept it up. "Maybe I'll do this after I muster out, after my twenty years. Either this is pretty easy, or I'm really good at blowing up pictures. My vote is that I'm just that good."

"You keep telling yourself that," Brown said. "Here, blow this one up. What's this girl picking up? It looks gold in this shot, but I can't tell."

Williams accepted the print, sliding in into the scanner and telling the machine to do its thing. The picture took its sweet time filling the computer screen. "Bottom left corner, right?"

"No, left."

"That's what I said."

"You said right."

"Cut the chatter, Mutt and Jeff," Jonas reproved mildly. "We've still got another hundred or so photos to look at."

"Sorry, Top." Williams zoomed in on the area that Brown had identified for further examination. His voice suddenly changed. "Hey, look at this."

"You got something?" Jonas came around, the others following.

"What do you think that looks like?" Williams pointed to the screen.

"It could be that damn necklace," was Gerhardt's opinion. "It's got a chain, and it looks like it's something larger just outside that kid's fist. Who is that kid? Who's got the yearbook with the portraits?"

"Wait a minute." Brown continued to study the blown-up portion of the picture. "No go."

"What do you mean, no go? It's the necklace—"

"It's silver," Brown interrupted.

Jonas pursed his lips. "The locket is gold-colored." He grimaced. "Not this one, gentlemen. We keep looking."

Gerhardt dumped himself back onto the hard plastic chair. "This is a dead end," he growled. "We could have missed it. Or the security footage just didn't show us, wasn't on the target."

Jonas remained calm. "I'm open to better suggestions, sergeant."

"When I get one, you'll be the first to know." Gerhardt picked up the photo that he'd been staring at. There was something wrong, and he was counting on his subconscious to tell him what it was. _It'll wake me up at three AM_, he thought dourly, _assuming that I can sleep in that damn chair beside Lissy's bed_. It was going to be another uncomfortable night, listening to his daughter moan in her sleep through her nightmares, and his wife glaring at him every chance she got. _Maybe I really should muster out. I've got enough time in. That way my family wouldn't be put in danger just by living close to base._

_But could I live a common life and not go crazy with boredom?_

The picture mocked him. There was something there, something that he ought to be seeing and wasn't.

_Go back to the basics_. Gerhardt let his training take over. He mentally divided the photo into thirds, and thirds again so that he had nine smaller areas to work with. He started at the top left, scanning the first block and then the second, working his way down. Lissy's face, caught in a moment of time talking with her friends, mocked him: this was taken the day before disaster had struck. She had been happy, and as carefree as any teenager with a father in the military could be. It was a good day, maybe the last good day she would have for a very long time. Gerhardt wanted to tear the photo to shreds. _This shouldn't have happened. Masters, you have a lot to answer for_.

Jonas noticed that his second had slowed down. "Mack?"

"Something about this photo." Gerhardt passed it over, hoping that Blane could spot what he couldn't.

Blane shook his head. "I see no one bending over to pick something up. I see nothing on the floor except this book." He handed it back.

It hit. It hit hard. Gerhardt knew what it was. "Hector, blow this up," he demanded.

"You got something?" Williams scanned the photo onto the computer screen. "What am I looking for? I don't see anything on the floor."

"Not the floor," Gerhardt said. "Focus in on Lissy. That's it; the left middle sector. Blow up her face."

Williams followed instructions, declining to offer any of the comic lines that could have been delivered. "I don't see anything."

"Yes, you do," Gerhardt snarled triumphantly. "Look at what she's wearing."

"The locket." Blane came up behind them once more. "She's wearing the locket."

"Why would that be…" Brown trailed off. "Of course. This establishes more of the timeline. When was the photo taken?"

"Lower right," Williams murmured, dollying down to the corner of the photo. "Two forty-five."

"Just before Lissy goes home," Gerhardt told them, "which means that she had the locket in her possession when she left school." He gestured at the pictures around them. "Waste of time. She had the locket until the end of school."

Jonas took it a step further. "Which means that there are only a few places where she could have lost the locket: your house or Bob's, or the road in between them. Possibly the path from school to Bob's house."

"All of which we've searched," Brown pointed out, "and found nothing."

"Still, it's a start," Jonas said. "Now, how to further proceed?"

"We search the houses again," Gerhardt suggested grimly. "And the streets. We could have missed it."

"True," Jonas allowed, "but Bob, I suggest you have another conversation with your wife. In particular we'd like to know if Ms. Gerhardt was wearing the necklace when she arrived to watch your children."

"On it." Brown was out of his chair in a flash, letting the door stay open behind him. They heard his footsteps hustling down the corridor, the sound dopplering away.

Jonas turned to Gerhardt. "Mack, as I recall, you and I worked late that night. Did you see your daughter when you arrived home?"

"I did, but that won't help," Gerhardt told him. "She'd already changed for bed. She was in her bathrobe."

"Did she say anything about losing the locket?"

"No, but she wouldn't have," Gerhardt admitted. "That's not something she talks about to me. Not a lot she does tell me," he added grimly.

"Then I propose that we question both your daughter and your wife," Jonas said. He pushed back his chair, putting his hands on the table to raise himself up. "Now that we've established that the locket was not lost at school, we can concentrate on narrowing down the window of opportunity even further."

* * *

Mack Gerhardt let Jonas Blane take the lead on the interrogation. There was an audience, too: not only Tiffy but even Colonel Ryan in the background.

Lissy still looked awful, and Gerhardt had to shove down the all too ready anger. There was no one to take out his frustration on, no one to shoot, no one to take down with a satisfying crunch that said a bone had been broken. Tiffy too kept turning her face away to keep her daughter from recognizing the emotions that were running high. _Your fault, Mack. If you had mustered out when I asked you to, this wouldn't have happened._

Ryan, standing by the door, had a stone face. Poker-player he was, Gerhardt thought. Never let the real thoughts loose where others could read them. Ryan was watching Tiffy, seeing how she handled the scene.

Blane was concentrating on Lissy, and Mack gratefully focused there himself. There was too much anger in the air, and he needed to dial it down.

"Ms. Gerhardt," Jonas said, letting his deep voice set the tone, "Ms. Gerhardt, we have determined that the necklace was still in your possession when you left school. Can you take your mind back to that day?"

Lissy's eyes were big and scared. "The day before…_that_."

"Yes. The day before you were taken by those men. Kidnapped." Blane refused to give the episode power by declining to call it what it was. "You left your school with the intention of going directly to the Brown residence. Do you recall that day?"

"Y—yes."

"Good." Blane allowed satisfaction to ooze forth. "You had the necklace on at that time. We have a photograph that confirms that."

"You do?"

"Security cameras, honey," Mack slipped in. "They got 'em all over the school."

"Yeah." Lissy made a face, and winced as only half of her face responded. The other half—with the bruise—was still swollen. Mack's knuckles whitened; he shoved his fists into his pockets.

Blane wouldn't quit. "You walked home. Your path took you by your house. Did you stop in?"

Lissy tried to think. "Yeah. I mean, yes. I dropped off my books. I took my history book with me, in case I got a chance to study. Like, I mean, if Teddy took a nap and I could get Serena to watch one of her shows."

His daughter was a better student than he ever was; smarter, too. Mack was proud of her. He'd have to tell her so, real soon.

"Did you take off the necklace?"

"No. I mean, I just stopped in and dropped my book bag."

"Could it have fallen off? Perhaps into your book bag?"

Lissy shrugged, and that hurt, too. "Maybe. I wasn't really paying attention."

Blane opened his mouth to ask another question when his comm. link buzzed. He furrowed his brow. "Snake Doc," he answered with a puzzled look toward Colonel Ryan, a look that the colonel echoed.

Panic had been long ago trained out of the Unit men, but Brown came as close as he could through the comm. "Snake Doc! Back field, _now!_"


	7. What'cha Got?

Bob kept his voice down. His son had fallen asleep, and waking him with loud voices was _so_ not going to happen. Not if he could help it.

"He looks so sweet when he's asleep," Kim murmured, thinking the same thoughts.

"So do pit bulls," Bob grimaced. "And wolves, and—"

"I hope you're not comparing your son to wild animals, Bob Brown."

"Who, me? Besides, pit bulls aren't wild." Bob swung into the topic of his urgency. "Kim, when Lissy arrived to take care of the kids, when you went out after groceries that day, was she wearing the necklace?"

Kim frowned. "I'm not sure. Do you think she lost it in our house? I thought you searched it. Along with half of the army," she added with annoyance. "Everyone except your wife."

Bob didn't take the bait. "She was wearing it when she left school," he informed Kim. "If you remember seeing it, then she didn't lose it walking home. That could be important, Kim. Think back."

She tried to remember, closing her eyes. "Let's see. Lissy was wearing a blue striped shirt, with a mock turtleneck to it. Yes, she was wearing it then," Kim said triumphantly. "I remember noticing it, thinking that the gold looked nice against the white and blue stripes, coming up over the collar. Tiny little chain, that could break pretty easy, it was so slender."

"That's good, Kim." They were getting somewhere! "How about when you came home—"

His comm. link interrupted him, and he automatically tabbed the return. "Cool Breeze."

"Betty Blue. Cool Breeze, I need a pick up."

Brown felt a momentary annoyance. He'd dealt with Serena all day long, and Kim the most of all. Couldn't Charlie manage five minutes for them to question people on a matter of national security? He couldn't help the sarcasm that leeched into his voice. "Package a little too much for you, Betty? Shall I send Mama Breeze to rescue you?"

"Cool Breeze, I have acquired the target and I need an immediate pick up ricki-tick!"

_What?_ Was Grey trying to say that he'd found the locket? After all the work they'd done trying to locate the damn thing, Grey had found it in Serena's impromptu sand box? Brown sat up in sudden alarm. "Betty Blue, please confirm: target has been acquired?"

"Damn straight, Cool Breeze. _Jeez, what the hell is that?"_

Splutter of a cut off comm. link.

Brown went cold. Grey was out there with Bob's daughter.

No time to waste. Brown switched channels, holding up a hand to forestall Kim's entirely understandable concern.

"Snake Doc." Cool, calm and collected.

That was about to change. "Snake Doc, back field, _now!_"

* * *

The training ground was just as muddy as Kim and Molly had promised, and it didn't bother either Charlie Grey or Serena Brown one bit. She tugged at his hand, urging him ever faster toward her make-shift playground, eager to revisit the digs after the rainstorm. Charlie marveled at how tiny her hand was in his. _Is this what you come home to at night, Bob? Knowing that this small child is your flesh and blood? It's enough to make a man reconsider his choices in life. Maybe I should start looking a little more seriously._

_Or maybe I can keep on borrowing yours every now and again._

He automatically scanned the terrain, noting the wide open fields covered with mud. Training exercises had been conducted in the rain not two hours ago, churning the grass into drying shreds now that the thunderstorm had passed. New recruits had panted their way through calisthenics followed by a quick march around the perimeter, turning them into muddy scarecrows headed back inside for a hot shower and chow. The passing clouds had now turned the horizon pink and purple as the sun inched its way down toward night.

Surveying for possible areas of attack was also ingrained in him. There was no danger here—it was, after all, an army base filled with soldiers armed with weapons that went bang—but years of Unit missions had left him with an inability to let down his guard. _Let's see, if I were going to try to kidnap a little girl, I'd come over that far wall with a dozen men, and another dozen from that direction to cut off escape…_

Charlie Grey shook himself. "What, honey?"

"Uncle Charlie, my store is over there." Serena pointed to the edge of the woods that bounded the perimeter of the field. "Isn't that a pretty place for a store?"

"Real nice," Charlie agreed without thinking. "You want to check it out?" No one around. Training was over for the day, although Charlie had heard that one unfortunate squad would be going on night maneuvers somewhere in the countryside. They'd straggle back in sometime toward daybreak. Not his problem. Charlie expected to be sleeping in his own bed tonight, assuming they could locate the damn locket. What the hell had Masters been thinking to hand it over to Lissy Gerhardt?

"Well, yeah!" Serena pulled him in the direction of the trees, heedless of the clumps of wet grass spraying water and dirt onto her pants.

Okay, Kim had given in to her little girl, letting her come out after the rain. If it had been Charlie's _mamacita_, she'd have been yelling at him for coming back in with so much dirt. Would have meant a paddling, too, although by that time it didn't even hurt, not through his jeans. _You'll get to that point too, kid, where you don't care that your old lady is mad. Well, maybe not_, Charlie decided uncomfortably. _Why else did I finish high school? Sure wasn't 'cause I liked it_.

"This is my store," Serena told him gravely, introducing him to a partially leaf-covered area. It had survived the worst of the rain with branches protecting it, although the wind had driven enough droplets through to spatter everything with mud. "Would you like to buy something?"

_On my paycheck? Not a chance_. Charlie felt in his pocket, trying to sort out by feel which were quarters and which were pennies. "Sweetheart, I can't afford much. Your store probably has really expensive stuff."

"Yes, very expensive," Serena said sternly, "but I will give you a discount 'cause you work with my daddy."

"Sure," Charlie said absently, still scanning the surroundings. Exit route: through the trees. Dodging would mean the bullets would end up lodged in bark and not in his back. If any attackers decided to attack with knives and clubs, then he could hustle his butt, Serena over his shoulder, back to the main building, but clubs weren't in popular use in this part of the world. Charlie had his own hand weapon stuck in a holster underneath his jacket where Serena couldn't see it, but the range on that weapon was seriously limited. It was strictly a short distance piece. Anyone coming in over the wall, Charlie would rely on running away through the forest as a first option. "I can afford to buy something for a penny. What'cha got for me, sweetheart?"

Serena put on her best salesgirl manners. "I can show you a very fine tea set, sir. It's silver, and there are four cups and four plates. But it costs a dime."

"Too rich for my blood." Charlie tried to look interested in her store. _At her age, I didn't even know what a penny or a dime was. _

Something glinted, a sparkle in the dimming sunlight. Charlie blinked, and peered over the items 'for sale', trying to see what had caught his eye.

Serena had put out several toys and childish collections that she'd snatched up before being yanked out of her home by her terrified parents: the aforementioned tea set made of molded plastic covered with silver paint. A teddy bear, now soggy with rain and grimy with splashed up mud. A collection of three feathers, weighted down by a stone so that they hadn't flown away under the influence of the breeze. A bead necklace, souvenir of some little girl's birthday party.

And, beside them all and covered with mud, was a gold locket.

Charlie went cold. It couldn't be. After all the searching they'd done, after rescuing Lissy Gerhardt from the cell of terrorists, to find the cause of it all here in a little girl's make-believe store? Worse: none of them, from Colonel Ryan down to himself, had had the smarts to ask Serena if she knew anything about a gold locket. He reached for it.

"Ah, ah," Serena scolded him. "That costs a whole quarter. It's _really_ expensive."

"Sweetheart, you don't know the half of it," Charlie breathed. He dug back into his pocket and pulled out several coins. "You can have all of these, honey," he said, not caring how close the actual numbers came to twenty five cents. At her age, Serena likely wouldn't know the value of each coin, but she could count. Several coins of different denominations would delight her and win Charlie the locket without a fuss. A couple of those coins might not even be legal tender within the United States. Charlie tried to remember what country he'd last been in, and decided it didn't matter under the circumstances. Getting the locket into his explicit control did.

He was right. Serena cheerfully dropped the dirty necklace into the palm of Charlie's hand, beaming over the collection of coins that she had garnered and more than satisfied with her prowess as a 'salesclerk'.

Charlie rubbed the surface of the locket with the edge of his shirt, scrubbing off the top layer of mud. Gold gleamed beneath the dirt, sparkling in the evening sun with red glints from the clouds reflecting the last bits of light. Could this really be the necklace that Masters had passed on? Charlie pried open the gold locket.

Inside was a tiny black silhouette in the shape of a woman, her neck long and elegant even in the miniscule confines of the locket. It looked exactly like something a husband would give to a wife—only Ted Masters had given it to Lissy Gerhardt instead. It was no silhouette, of that Sgt. Grey was certain. Instead, that black dot covered a tiny circle of cached information, something that would require a microscope and a computer to decode, and would doubtless send a team of American agents to one or more hot spots in the world to prevent another disaster. Charlie didn't know what the disaster was, but that didn't matter. In his hand he held the key. After all the searching they'd done, Charlie had the prize and it was through sheer dumb luck.

Getting that key into more secure hands than his took on a high priority. He shoved it into his pocket for safe-keeping. "Serena, honey, we have to go inside now."

Serena looked up at him. "Don't you want to shop some more? Mommy always does."

"Well, yeah, but I think I'm all shopped out right now." He was. What Charlie Grey had just bought was burning a hole in his pocket. "It's getting dark out."

"Just another ten minutes?" Serena pleaded.

How did mothers do it? How did they get their kids to behave? Charlie tried for stern, and failed miserably. "No, sweetie, I don't think so. We really need to get inside ricki-tick."

Serena stuck out her lip. "No."

Charlie himself would have earned a beating for saying that when his old man was still around; one reason he hadn't been sorry to see the last of the guy. It hadn't even been his real father, just some other dude that his ma had picked up with, thinking that he'd be a good husband. It hadn't worked out then, and this wasn't working out now.

How was he going to get her inside fast? There was always the option of throwing Serena over his shoulder and listening to her shriek for the half mile back to the main building, but that didn't sound like a _good_ option. There had to be a better—and faster—way, and one that preferably didn't look like kidnapping.

One thing about the Army, they taught you to go to your superiors for answers. In this case, the superior was junior Unit member Sgt. Bob Brown, father to this kid. He pulled out his comm. link. Sure, some might consider it an abuse of military equipment to call a father to come discipline his kid, but somehow Grey thought that Ryan would understand the circumstances. _What the hell; Ryan might even approve_.

"Cool Breeze." It was the comm. link, therefore code names were used. It could be a new mission so Brown kept it under wraps.

Grey heightened the tension. "Betty Blue. Cool Breeze, I need a pick up."

Brown missed the significance. "Package a little too much for you, Betty? Shall I send Mama Breeze to rescue you?"

_Brown, listen to what I'm saying here!_ "Cool Breeze, I have acquired the target and I need an immediate pick up ricki-tick!"

Pause. _Horrified_ pause. Brown's voice came back, all humor fled. "Betty Blue, please confirm: target has been acquired?"

"Damn straight, Cool Breeze." Movement caught Charlie's eye, from the far end of the field. It was not quite a quarter of a mile away, but that suddenly seemed to be an extraordinarily short distance. Some dozen men, looking strangely like ants, had erected ladders to crawl up and over the barb wire fence that the Army had put up years ago to encourage the public to stay out of the way of training missions and badly aimed flying bullets. Cold stung his belly: cold fear. "_Jeez, what the hell is that?"_

Certainly wasn't the local Welcome Wagon, and Charlie wasn't about to take the chance that it was a training mission of recruits coming home from a long day in the field. No, a couple of shots aimed in his—_and Serena's!_—direction told him otherwise.

Those dudes didn't come armed with clubs, so Charlie opted for Plan A: he snatched up the little girl and ran into the covering trees.

* * *

Ryan's head snapped up, listening to the bug in his ear. "Snake Doc!" he rapped out. "Perimeter's been breached. Got a dozen armed men swarming over the fence!"

It took only a moment for that to sink in. An army base, being attacked in the middle of the United States? Someone was either foolish or desperate, and right now it didn't matter which.

What did matter was that they had a soldier and a little girl and a valuable piece of intel in the thick of it.

Ryan was a colonel, and the commanding officer of a squad so elite that it didn't exist. He hadn't gotten there by being a yes man. Tactical maneuvers began to flow.

He patched into the comm. systems, watching Blane and Gerhardt flat out run from the room toward the exit and the disturbance. "Leave security where they are, dammit! This could be a feint, to pull us away from the front gate. Get the horn blasting through quarters; get every man Jack of 'em up and armed and headed toward the back field! I want Eye in the Sky trained on the situation by the time I hit the TOC; you hear me?" Ryan's own feet were already pounding down the hall, diverging from the direction that Blane and Gerhardt had gone.

His place was in the TOC, directing traffic so that the bastards would get their tails dusted but good. The 303rd Logistical had plenty of troops, but only a few of whom anticipated seeing gunfire anywhere but the firing range. Still, every soldier there had been through Basic and knew how to handle a weapon and Ryan expected that there would be a few more soldiers who could put in for hazardous duty pay before this evening finished.

Ryan slammed through the door of the TOC, rattling windows and shouting orders. "Medawar, get me Betty Blue on the horn! Rodriguez, you got a screen shot for me?"

"Right here, colonel." The oversized computer screen broke into red-tinged color, night vision displaying the running bodies as barely recognized scarlet blobs. "They're breaching the perimeter at Sector Nine, East, over the fence—"

"How many?"

"Not certain—"

"Well, get certain, Rodriguez! Gimme a damn count! Mazewski, what about the gates, front and back?"

"Still secure, colonel. No signs of attack."

"Don't let 'em let their guard down," Ryan directed. "Medawar?"

"Betty Blue is not answering, sir."

"Keep trying, Medawar. Keep trying. Horner, what about the men on base?"

"Moving, sir. Got two squads up. They'll be on Snake Doc's ass ricki-tick."

"Put me through to Snake Doc, Medawar."

"Yes, sir."

Sounds of pounding feet. "Snake Doc."

"Snake Doc, be advised you will have two units soonest at your disposal."

"Betty Blue?"

"No response." Ryan hated to say that. "He may be maintaining radio silence. Not in a place where he can chat."

The TOC screen shone large in front of Ryan, wavy red lines pointing out the enemy that had breached the wall. Ryan could see the place in his mind's eye, had run plenty of maneuvers there with trainees and had occasionally done a few miles there himself as a morning work out. It was a big field, big enough to turn into a baseball diamond with plenty of outfield and then some; that was where that damn picnic had been where Masters had passed the locket to Lissy Gerhardt. Right now it was covered with red blobs as if aliens from outer space had hit the ground running. "You got me a count yet, Rodriguez?"

"Yes, sir. Twenty six."

One red figure stumbled and fell, and immediately the red began to cool down through blue. Shot, Ryan translated. Heart stopped pumping, body chilling in the cool night. Two more close by also dropped: Snake Doc and company had arrived. "Twenty three," he corrected, grimly satisfied.


	8. Long Night

Two men, both expert marksmen, at Snake Doc's disposal. Blane stopped them at the equipment house at the edge of the field. "We hold here," he ordered. "Pick 'em off from the rear until our relief arrives. Stay under cover."

Brown's eyes flashed with an argument, but it didn't reach his mouth. It was his daughter out there with Betty Blue—but getting himself killed wasn't the way to rescue her. He had to trust that his brother soldier would protect his little girl.

Not his first option. The handgun that was a part of him was short range, and would only reach to the edge of the wave of the enemy, but he had nothing better. Not unless he wanted to go up against them with the knife that was tucked into a sheath along his calf. _Didn't know that I've been carrying that all the time, did you, Kim? I only take it off when I'm in bed with you. You probably wouldn't be happy knowing that I have it on around the kids. Glad I've got it now. I may need it._

"On my mark." Snake Doc could have been ordering his steak medium-well done. Brown tried match the man's cool. He sighted on a running target.

"Fire."

Three shots sounded as one, and three figures dropped.

"Good," Snake Doc commented. "Fire at will."

"Take out as many of the bastards as you can until they realize that we're here," Dirt Diver added, more to himself than the others. "Then fall back." He glared at Blane. "You do realize that we won't get many of them with these pea shooters."

"That will not be a problem, Dirt Diver." Blane jerked his thumb toward the main building. "Our first set of reinforcements has arrived. Don't shoot him."

It was Hector Williams, heavy-burdened with long range rifles and enough night vision goggles to outfit them all. He handed them out.

More enemy soldiers dropped.

* * *

"I got a fifty count, Colonel! More just came over the fence!"

"I hear you, Rodriguez." _You don't have to shout._ _Where the hell they all coming from? I gotta have me a serious discussion with the local FBI office ricki-tick_. "Horner, you get those squads out and over to the back field, you hear?"

"Yes, sir. First squad away, under Velvet Fist. He's got Iron Horse pulling together the second."

Good. Both men were from Beta Squad. Their new teams were grunts and recruits from the other side of the base, but Velvet Fist and Iron Horse would make 'em give a good account of themselves. The enemy would know that they'd been in a fight, by damn. "Medawar, let Snake Doc know that his relief should be there any second."

* * *

Objective one: retrieve a certain gold locket with enough intel to justify attacking an army base filled with pissed off soldiers. Objective two: rescue a little girl whose only mistake was to be out in the middle of a battlefield. Oh, yes, and objective three: rescue a certain Betty Blue who was busy trying to achieve objectives one and two.

_Rescue_, not recovery of the bodies of Betty Blue and his charge. Rescue meant live bodies. Recovery meant turning to Kim Brown and saying, "I'm sorry for your loss." Five simple words, so difficult to say. Blane did not want to say those words, not to Kim Brown and not to Cool Breeze beside him.

He didn't need to hear it in his earpiece that the numbers of the enemy had just doubled. He could see it through his night goggles, saw another wave coming over the fence. Where the hell was back up? How long did it take to get a squad of soldiers together? Snake Doc was going to recommend that the entire base start practicing readiness drills. They ought to be able to scramble faster than that.

There they were, led by Velvet Fist, the team leader of Beta Squad. The Unit soldier was holding back to make certain that the Regular Army types weren't left behind. In the distance was another squad of twenty; probably being put through their paces by Iron Horse who would be giving them a tongue lashing worse than any Marine drill sergeant. Come to think of it, Iron Horse had _been_ a Marine drill sergeant before he'd seen the Unit light.

Time to move out. Beta Squad could handle the invasion. Alpha Squad needed to make the rescue and secure the package of gold. Snake Doc nudged Dirt Diver. "We need a direction."

Gerhardt snarled under his breath. "Which way would Betty Blue jump?" He cast an unreadable look toward Cool Breeze. "Especially when he's got a kid to protect?"

Cool Breeze's hand didn't shake on his weapon. His aim, taking down one more enemy soldier, was rock solid and deadly.

Snake Doc spoke quietly, challenging each of the others to add more. "Betty Blue has two choices: run toward the base and safety, or head deeper into the woods. He goes to the woods; why?"

"'Cause he'd collect one in the back if he heads for base," Gerhardt answered immediately. "Too far away to run. Not with a bunch of pissant terrorists on his ass."

"So they're too close for him to run. Can he run through the woods?"

"Not with a little girl," Williams said grimly, "and he's not about to leave her behind." _It's what he should have done, if he was following the rules. That intel is worth more than one life, even if it belongs to a little girl. You understand what risk Betty Blue is taking for your daughter, Cool Breeze?_

Blane nodded in agreement. "He goes to ground. Where? Dirt Diver, you've trained men in tactics in these woods."

Gerhardt grunted. "I got six places, easy."

"Defensible?"

"Some are. Some aren't. Some are just holes to hide in. Worthless if your enemy has night vision."

"And they don't," Blane said. "How close?"

"Some close, some far, way out towards the north end." Gerhardt considered. "If he's headed for those, he's still running. It'd take him twenty minutes to travel that route, more with a kid."

Blane spoke into his comm. unit. "Base."

"Go ahead, Snake Doc."

"Any communication with Betty Blue?"

"That's a negative, Snake Doc. No sign of Betty Blue or of Little Dolly."

"Acknowledged. Snake Doc out." So Bob Brown's daughter had acquired her own call sign. Blane hoped that she'd stay alive to appreciate it. He turned back to the others. "Scratch the hidey holes furthest out. If Betty Blue was running, he'd have called in his position."

"Which means that he's in a situation where he can't." Brown was bleak. _He's either hiding with the enemy on top of him, or he's dead. And if he's dead, so is my daughter._

"We need to push the enemy away from him and Little Dolly," Blane decided. He scanned the forest in front of him. The trees were dotted with red figures picking their way through the underbrush, hunting. There were too many for his small team to make a difference, and the trees that had protected Betty Blue and Little Dolly from flying bullets did the same for the enemy combatants.

"Or pull."

"Dirt Diver?"

"They're still looking." Gerhardt explained his idea. "They're hunting, and they're taking their time until somebody starts pushing them out. They think he's close in, just like we do. And they know that we have to be careful. We want our guy alive. They don't care whether he's alive or dead. So what if they think he's further out than he is? Maybe he ran for a while, got a head start."

"You're thinking to set up a decoy?"

"I am," Gerhardt confirmed. A wicked light came into his eye. "Let me have a few grenades and Hammerhead here, 'cause I _know_ he can scream like a little girl."

* * *

"Not a sound," Charlie whispered into Serena's ear.

He could feel her nod her understanding onto his chest. There were places that they could hide in these woods, and he'd done that during training missions. He'd been good at it, too. Maybe not as good as Dirt Diver—the man was a ghost in the trees—but still pretty damn good.

This was different. He needed to hide a kid, Bob Brown's kid, and a kid that he couldn't count on not to start crying for her mommy. Hell, Charlie Grey wouldn't have minded crying for his mommy, too. Anybody who could get them out of this mess would be welcome.

How had it gone so bad so fast? Serena led him to the necklace, and bam! He was under fire.

One blessing: the enemy didn't have night vision. Their sight was just as good—or as bad—as his own. Two blessings: Betty Blue had a head start on them, into the forest. Three blessings: Grey had trained in these woods, and he knew where the hiding places were.

Now the bad: the kid who would start crying at any moment, and the necklace that he couldn't afford to let into the wrong hands. More bad: there were more enemy soldiers than he could count on one hand or even two hands and two feet, and that meant he was substantially outnumbered. The little handgun at his waist would be worse than useless. One shot, and they'd be on him like flies to horse manure. No, best to hold that option for last. Even toggling his comm. link would be too loud for comfort. The enemy was close enough to hear that, too.

Serena clung to his chest, and he kept one arm wrapped around her, marveling at light she was. He'd take that as another positive. He could carry her for miles if he had to.

Assuming that no one shot him in the back. That would be bad.

A flurry of shots rang out. His side, come to rescue them? Probably not; it didn't sound like the ammo that his side used, not to his trained ear. Somebody disturbed a deer, and it went crashing off toward some place quieter, fleeing from the trouble. Bunch of nervous invaders had shot at it, shooting at anything that moved. Deer kept going, escaped without a scratch.

Charlie wished he could do the same.

* * *

A flat out run around the perimeter: Dirt Diver and Hammerhead reached their destination within minutes. Neither one was winded. Both were determined.

Hand signals only: place that grenade there. Another one over there. Cover them with leaves. Hang a jacket up on a branch to twist in the wind, make it look like a man in the dark of early evening.

Hammerhead screeched like a little girl, pitching his voice higher than any man had a right to. "Daddy! Daddy!"

Now wait until several someones got closer.

* * *

Blane held up a fist: _halt_. They were at the closest hiding place, one that was defensible should a man with a little girl choose to hole up in there. He listened, as did Brown beside him: nothing. Nothing but the breeze slipping by.

That was not all that they had. They had night vision goggles, instruments that relied on heat to detect people who didn't want to be detected. They had them, and the invaders didn't; it was as simple as that. Blane peered through the goggles, hoping to see the vestiges of two warm bodies seeping out from behind the covering boulders.

Nothing. This was not where they would find Betty Blue and, as they had christened her, Little Dolly.

* * *

There! Betty Blue defied even Dirt Diver to find them here.

It was a short cliff, one that even Serena could jump down from and come up smiling, with a thick stone slab overhead to keep the opening clear. Of course, if she jumped she'd land in the babbling brook down below and at this of year it would be as cold as an ice cube, but Charlie had no intention of allowing her to jump out. No, he intended to remain inside the shallow cave halfway up the face of the cliff until the enemy got tired of looking for him. He smirked to himself, knowing that no one could see the expression. Even if Serena started to cry a bit, the sound of the creek below would cover the noise. His jacket would muffle the rest. They were safe.

Come sun up, he could turn his comm. link back on and call in. It would be a tough wait for Brown and for his wife through the night, but better safe than sorry. Sorry meant that Betty Blue would have a hole in his jacket that extended through something precious. Sorry meant that Sgt. and Mrs. Brown would never get the opportunity to see their little girl go off to the prom, graduate from high school, and do all the other things that little girls should grow up to do. Brown could damn well wait until Charlie crawled out, lifted Serena out of their hidey hole, and called in their location.

Charlie wrapped his arms around the little girl, keeping her warm. It was going to be a long night.


	9. That's Discouraging, Snake Doc

At the moment, the woods looked at lot more serene. The wavering red bodies were all drifting north, toward the decoy set up by Dirt Diver and Hammerhead. The plan was working.

That meant that Snake Doc and Cool Breeze could head for the next hidey hole that Dirt Diver had pointed out. Snake Doc doubted that Betty Blue and Little Dolly were there, but he'd been wrong with the one he thought would hold the prize. This one too needed to be explored.

This particular one could serve as a hiding place but otherwise lacked any defensive capability, which is why Snake Doc doubted that Betty Blue had chosen it. It would stop a bullet only if that bullet happened to bounce off a tree branch two or three times as it fell from the sky in sheer exhaustion over the distance. From short range, it would be worse than useless.

It would, however, hide two people if the two people were silent for a very long time. Personally, Snake Doc didn't think Little Dolly could handle the pressure. Cool Breeze had greater faith. If it was the closest one available, it would have been the safest. _Any port in a storm_…

The grove didn't look like a grove from even one yard away. It looked as though it was filled with thorn bushes, and anyone who thought they could get through the morass would be in a world of hurt until antiseptic cream and a few days of healing turned the ordeal into a bad memory.

Cool Breeze remembered the trick faster than Snake Doc; he was more motivated. He selected a long branch from the ones on the ground—perhaps the same one that Betty Blue had used?—and pushed it into the mass of thorns. From there it was a simple task to push aside enough twigs to make room for a small man and a child to crawl into the center of the bushes and be covered from view. Snake Doc and even Cool Breeze himself would have collected a few scrapes during the crawling but their quarry would have been safe and snug as long as they stayed quiet.

In the end it didn't matter if Betty Blue and Little Dolly were quiet or not. They weren't there, either.

Cool Breeze didn't bite his lip in frustration, but it was a close thing.

* * *

Hammerhead didn't need sound to see what Dirt Diver was sub-vocalizing under his breath. Only the lips were moving, with no sound emerging. The hands were rock steady on the switch.

_Wait for it. Wait for it_.

Hammerhead too was silent. He'd done his task. He lured the enemy here with his child's siren call, pulling them away from where they believed that Betty Blue and Little Dolly were. He hoped they were right. He _believed_ they were right.

_Closer. Wait for it._

Hammerhead tightened his grasp on his handgun. His rifle was at his side, not needed for the next few moments.

_Closer_. Ten men, all looking around for the source of the cry. Twelve. Fifteen.

Dirt Diver closed his fist. Hammerhead, forewarned, closed his eyes.

_Blam!_

The world rocked. Three grenades, all in a single pile, erupted and turned the night from pitch black to fireworks white and back again, images echoing against enemy retinas.

Not Dirt Diver, and not Hammerhead. They'd been ready for it. The blast had taken out more than a dozen of the enemy on the first salvo, now handguns aided by temporary blindness did for nearly a dozen more. Eyes closed, neither Dirt Diver nor Hammerhead were blinded by the grenade flash. Dirt Diver emptied his gun with angry coolness into the invaders, slamming home another clip when the first ran out, seeing the men who had hurt his little girl in each face. By the time the third clip was needed, everyone in range lay unmoving on the forest floor.

Next came the rifles, for the enemy soldiers running toward the melee.

Dirt Diver and Hammerhead were ready. It was called a pincer movement: draw the enemy in, with a larger force from behind. Catch the bastards between a rock and a hard place.

With more than a dozen enemy soldiers down, Velvet Fist and Iron Horse now had the larger force.

* * *

Asleep. Serena Brown was asleep, and Charlie was grateful for it. How she could manage it under the circumstances was more than he could fathom—he could have sworn that he stank bad enough to keep a bull moose awake—but if the kid was sleeping, then he was grateful.

Must have been that good supper she'd had before dragging him to play. Full belly, tired as all get out—no wonder she'd fallen asleep. As far as she was concerned, this was just another camping trip, only this time with Uncle Charlie instead of Daddy.

He stiffened; there was noise outside. Footsteps, many of them. His side, or theirs? There was no doubt in his mind that Ryan and Blane and Brown and all the rest were combing these woods, looking for their little lost chicks. Tough; they could look a bit more until Sgt. Grey was satisfied that the footsteps belonged to the right people.

These didn't. He strained to catch their quiet words, and didn't like what he heard.

"They anywhere around?"

"You think I can see in the dark?"

"How about noise? The brat should be making some noise."

There was more, and it was language that Serena wasn't supposed to be exposed to. Not because it was obscene—it was—but because it was Pashtun, one of the dialects of the Afghan-Pakistan region. Sgt. Grey didn't make any claims to fluency but he knew enough to translate the simple sentences going on around him. The curses were easier to translate.

Didn't matter. They were safe. The enemy couldn't see into the shallow cave in the middle of the cliff, and there was no sound emerging to alert them of Grey's presence.

"Watch out. Don't fall over the cliff."

_Go ahead_, Grey silently invited them. _Fall over. Break your neck on the way down._

"The soldiers are all around us. Me, I say we get out of here. We're not going to find them."

"They're further away, toward the far wall. Someone heard the brat crying, near the north end."

The dirt overhead shifted, sending little cascades of pebbles coursing over Charlie's head. He bit back a curse, and shifted his jacket to protect Serena. That was all that he needed, for her to get startled out of a sound sleep by being hit with a stone. She'd wake up crying. He readied himself to cover her mouth if he needed to.

"The ledge is unstable! Get off! Get off!"

"You are a cowardly dog, and always have been. Watch me jump!"

There was a thump above Charlie, then a second one. The slab of rock over Charlie's head shifted just enough to give way. It cracked. It slid down into the shallow cave.

The first thing Charlie felt was something heavy pinning his leg. It hurt, and it almost—but not quite—pushed out the other sensation: his head. Something very heavy and even harder than his thick skull proved that his skull wasn't quite so thick as everyone swore it was.

Darkness blacker than night engulfed him.

* * *

"Medawar, get me Velvet Fist. Velvet Fist, this is Home Base. You have six combatants jumping over the fence to your north. They'd best not be escaping with the goods."

"That's a roger, Home Base. We see 'em, and they do not have the package. Repeat: they do not have the package. Do you want us to pursue?"

There was a sub-text in the Beta Squad team leader's voice: _ain't got all that many men, colonel, and what I do got is tired as all get out. These boys ain't my regulars, Unit soldiers who don't quit. These kids are likely to get themselves shot up going after those six._

Ryan pursed his lips. "No, leave 'em go, Velvet Fist. Round up what you got and bring 'em in. We'll question 'em, and see what we can pull out from between their pointy little ears." He considered. "Medawar, how about Snake Doc? Snake Doc, you there?"

"Home Base, still searching."

"That's discouraging, Snake Doc."

"Yes, sir, it is."

* * *

"Uncle Charlie? Uncle Charlie, wake up!"

Uncle Charlie didn't wake up. Serena Brown was cold, and sleepy, and scared, but Uncle Charlie, before he went to sleep, had told her to be quiet. She did the best she could, but the hiccupping sobs still came out.

It didn't matter. The babbling brook below covered the quiet noise.

* * *

Dirt Diver wasn't interested in picking up the dead and wounded bodies in the brush, and neither was Hammerhead. There was only one body he was looking for—no, two, actually, and one of them belonged to a little girl who didn't deserve to be out here on a battlefield.

The enemy had balls, to attack an army base. Whatever Masters had, it must have been damn scary to provoke this sort of response, and right now, if what Betty Blue had transmitted before he went to radio silence was accurate, it was in the hands of the Unit if only they could figure out where to retrieve it. It made finding Carlito and little Serena all that much more important.

So he and Hammerhead trekked through the forest toward the hidey holes that Dirt Diver knew from training exercises, setting up little flags on the dead bodies for the regular soldier types to collect at their leisure, come daybreak.

"Bunch of boulders, up on that ridge," Dirt Diver pointed out. "Any team doing exercises like Capture the Flag, they get to that spot and they won the game."

Hammerhead shook his head. "Not Betty Blue's style. He likes to lie low. Place like that takes a lot of ammo that he probably didn't have."

"Still…"

"Only take a moment to check it out." Hammerhead gave in.

Dirt Diver set out, Hammerhead in his wake. Only three steps, and Dirt Diver came to a dead halt. He lowered his voice. "There's someone up there."

"Betty Blue?"

"Maybe." There was something very wrong here. Dirt Diver could _feel_ it. He raised his voice. "Yo! Betty Blue!"

A shot rocketed back at him. Dirt Diver jumped back, soil spitting up at his feet. "Yow! What the—!"

"Not Betty Blue." That was obvious. Hammerhead tabbed his comm. link. "Home Base, we have a bogie on top of Boot Hill."

"That's a roger, Hammerhead." There was a heavy sigh on the other end. "Gonna be a bitch to pry 'im out. Any chance of waiting the sucker out?"

"Tell the colonel that the bogie is seriously interfering with our search pattern," Gerhardt grumbled. He glared up at the boulders, coming to a decision. "You draw his fire. I'll take care of the bastard."

Hammerhead returned to his comm. link. "Home Base, this is Hammerhead. We'll let you know when and where to pick up the dry cleaning. Hammerhead out." Williams closed up the comm. link and pulled out his rifle. "If I get a clean shot, I'll nail him."

"You won't get a clean shot," Gerhardt predicted. "Not unless the dude stands up and waves like the Statue of Liberty." He bared his teeth. "You keep his interest Hammerhead. I'll get the rest."

* * *

"You really think they made it this far, Top?" Brown was getting discouraged—and scared. "This is more than a mile from where Serena was playing."

It was moving away from four AM. The sun would be rising soon, and he still hadn't found either his daughter or his teammate. There was another possibility, one that Brown did not want to entertain.

Blane likewise did not like the possibility but needed to bring it up. "If the enemy captured them—"

"They would have pulled back immediately, Top. That's only sensible."

"If the enemy had captured them," Blane repeated inexorably, "and taken them away, leaving the assault forces behind to cover their retreat…"

Now Bob Brown did bite his lip. The concept had the force of being a real potential. It would explain why they hadn't found their lost chicks. He hardened his voice. "You think that's what happened?"

Blane gave him hope. "No, I do not. Knowing Betty Blue, I do not see him leaving this field alive. If nothing else, he would have hidden the locket once again so that the enemy did not get it. Even if we don't get it, neither would the enemy. Not a good solution, but better than giving it up to the invaders."

"That doesn't explain where Se—Little Dolly is." Brown stumbled over the impromptu code name.

"Which leads me to believe that Betty Blue has achieved a hiding place that even Dirt Diver is unaware of," Blane returned calmly. He indicated the night vision goggles. "Those toys will be useless in another hour. I suggest we make best use of them while we can."

* * *

"No, Kim, you can't go out there." It was the fifth time that Molly Blane had said it, and she would say it again before the night was over. "You'd only be in the way. You have no cover, no weapon, and no knowledge of the forest. You'd get yourself killed. Think of your son; he needs you, too."

"But, my little girl, out there…" The shaking had ended several hours ago, worn to sleepless exhaustion.

"Trust your husband, girl. Trust mine, and Tiffy's. Trust Charlie and Hector. They'll bring your baby home to you."

* * *

Dirt Diver needed both hands to climb the rock face to the rear of Boot Hill, so he clenched his knife between his teeth. An ancestor pirate would have looked the same, climbing the rigging to swarm a prize sailing vessel. Dirt from the ground was smeared across his face, preventing pale skin from glinting in the moonlight.

This was taking too long, and he had places to be and people to find. Dirt Diver promised himself to make this quick.

Damn tough place to conquer. Gerhardt had led many a team to this very spot, using the height to point rifles down below to 'kill enemy soldiers' during training exercises. If he could take this spot first, he'd invariably win the contest and save himself and his squad from whatever punitive reward the losers got.

Almost there. Dirt Diver sent out a double squawk: a signal to Hammerhead below.

Hammerhead responded. A flurry of bullets arrowed up toward the enemy combatant, sounding like a detail of four soldiers at least. Had to hand it to Hammerhead; he was doing it up right. The enemy soldier—just a kid himself, now that Dirt Diver could see 'im as he was crawling over the boulders behind—was drawn to the edge of hidey hole, firing back at Hammerhead.

Was this kid one of the bastards who had grabbed Gerhardt's daughter as she walked home from school? Possibly. Certainly wasn't the one taking off his pants in front of her; that pile of excretions was already dead. On the other hand, interrogating this piece of goat slime might bring in more moles from around the country. With a sigh, Gerhardt reversed the knife in his hand, bringing the hilt down on the back of the kid's head with a solid thump.

The kid slithered to the ground.

Another sigh. _At least he'll wake up with a monster headache_.

* * *

"I'm not giving up," Brown said stubbornly. "She's here! She's here somewhere, along with Betty Blue."

"No one is asking you to," Blane said patiently. "There are some ten acres of land here, most of which is forested. Betty Blue could easily have found another spot that we know nothing of." He cast an experienced eye toward the horizon. "It'll be full sun up in another twenty minutes. Betty Blue could very well come trotting out of the forest, your daughter alongside him—"

"Then why hasn't he called in?" Brown demanded. He slumped back against a solid tree trunk. "God, what am I going to tell Kim?"

"You are not going to tell her anything," Blane instructed. "We have not finished our task. Coffee is here," he said, acknowledging the arrival of Gerhardt and Williams. "Bob, you need some."

Brown accepted the cup from the supply that the other two had brought, welcoming not only the taste but the energy that the caffeine would give him.

Gerhardt handed off another cup, this time to Blane. "We left the regulars combing the northern part of the field," he reported. "We checked the most likely spots for Betty Blue, but nothing. I don't think he's in that region, anyway. Too far for him to travel before all hell broke loose." He scanned the field around them, peering into the forest. "More likely that he holed up some place close, some place that he figured out on the fly."

Blane nodded. "It's sun up; let's see if we can give him a wake up call."

Williams agreed. "He might have turned off his comm. link, just in case the noise would give away his location to the enemy soldiers. He'll turn it back on any time now."

Blane tabbed his own comm. link. "Home Base."

"Go ahead, Snake Doc." Medawar's voice sounded tired, and that was a first for Blane. She never sounded tired. She always came through for him, and that hadn't stopped.

"Home Base, you tried our missing boy recently?"

He heard Colonel Ryan in the background, issuing orders. "You go ahead, Medawar. See if you can raise Betty Blue." Ryan too sounded done. "Keep Snake Doc patched in."

Medawar put energy into her call. "Betty Blue. Home Base to Betty Blue."

Static.

Medawar tried again. "Home Base to Betty Blue. Respond."

Static.

"Nothing yet, Snake Doc." Ryan was closer to the mike, and his words clearer. "You come in, take a breather—"

"Sir!"

"Medawar? You hear something?"

"Sir, there's a high-pitched sound, on Betty Blue's comm."

"Serena!" Brown was on his feet, coffee forgotten in his hand.

"What's it sound like, Medawar?"

"I…I can't be certain, sir. Crying, maybe."

"A little girl's crying?"

"Could be."

"Play it back, Medawar. You sure?"

"No, sir. Too much static—sir! There it is again! I'm sure of it! Betty Blue! Come in!"

A twig snapped in Bob Brown's hands, and he had no idea how it got there. He strained to hear what was happening in the TOC.

Ryan issued more orders. "Rodriguez, you get Mrs. Brown up here to the TOC. If that's her little girl, then maybe she'll respond to her mommy. Cool Breeze, you hear that?"

As if Brown could listen to anything else. "Yes, sir!"

"That sound like your little girl?"

It sounded like static. Brown couldn't hear anything besides that on the line. "Yes, sir!" he lied.

More orders. "Medawar, you keep tryin' to see if you can get her to talk to you. Mazewski, I need you to locate where that signal is coming from."

"I'll need to access a triangulation point, colonel."

"You access whatever the hell you need, lieutenant. You just find me that little girl!"


	10. Heavy Price

Kim Brown would have run ahead, leaving her escort behind, except that she didn't know which direction to go. "They've found her? Is she all right? Where is she?"

"I don't know, ma'am. Colonel said to bring you." Rodriguez was hustling.

That was all right with Serena's mother. She saw Colonel Ryan through the glass wall and burst in. "Colonel!"

He held up a hand, holding her back for a moment. "Still getting the triangulation, Snake Doc. This close in, gonna take some time." Without missing a beat, he pointed Kim to Sgt. Medawar, indicating that she was to join the communications woman.

Medawar too spotted her, didn't pause in speaking into the mike, motioning Kim into the seat beside her. "That's right, Serena. I want you to keep talking to me. I've got your mommy right here, honey."

"Serena?" Kim grabbed the headset that Medawar offered.

"Mommy?"

A choir of angels couldn't have sounded any more precious. "Mommy's here, sweetie. Are you all right?"

"'M cold, mommy. And it's dark!" The last came out in a childish wail.

"Daddy's coming to get you, honey." That was a promise that Kim Brown knew was happening. _Nothing_ would keep her husband from his quest and _nothing_ would stop him.

"Keep her talking," Medawar hissed. "Get her to tell you where she is. Is Grey with her?"

Kim obeyed. "Honey, is Uncle Charlie with you?"

"Y—yes."

"Can I talk to him?"

"He won't wake up, Mommy! Not even when I talk to him."

Cold seeped into Kim's belly. Dead? She couldn't let that stop her. Her daughter _needed_ her. "He's just sleeping, honey," she said, hoping that it wasn't a lie. "Where are you?"

"Uncle Charlie took me into the forest, where you said not to go." _Boy, was Uncle Charlie gonna get it when Mommy got through with him! You don't argue with Mommy! Not even Daddy argued with Mommy!_

"That's okay, honey," Kim promised. "Is that where you are now? In the forest? Are there trees around you?"

"It's dark, mommy. And I'm scared!"

* * *

Ryan's voice echoed from more than one comm. link. Each of the four had their earwigs inserted, listening to every word. "She's saying it's dark where she is."

Blane cast an eye toward the sky. "Sun's up. Shouldn't be dark if she's in the forest. Could they have been taken by the intruders? Maybe they're in a truck somewhere, maybe a building without windows."

"Don't think so, Snake Doc. We're reviewin' the tapes. 'Cept for the bunch that scrambled over the north wall before Velvet Fist got to 'em, nobody wandered off. 'Sides, she's not talkin' about movin' anywhere. Doesn't think she went anywhere after Betty Blue and she hunkered down. No vehicles that we can tell." He paused. "We got a line of sight for you, Snake Doc."

"Lay it out." Gerhardt already had a map of the area spread onto the ground.

Ryan named the coordinates, and Gerhardt traced a line along the paper map. "Nowhere near the north end," he said unnecessarily. "We were right. Betty Blue stayed close to home."

"Where along this line?" Brown wanted to know. "We've searched all through here. Where is he?" _And where is my daughter?_

"We'll get a better fix once they get a triangulation point," Williams mused.

"Spread out," Blane ordered. "We'll take this as our starting point, and assume three paces to either side of this line with another three paces beyond that. We'll walk the line and see what we can find until they can give us a more exact site. Move out."

The four men positioned themselves to flank the line on the map that they'd identified, listening hard for the sound of a child crying, wondering if they were in the right place. Each one tried to figure out how Brown's daughter could be in the dark in the forest if the sun was up. It didn't make sense.

"He's tried for a hidey hole in the trees before," Williams offered grimly. "Last training mission we went on, other side missed him for four hours."

"Your daughter could be stuck inside a hole in a tree trunk," Gerhardt suggested doubtfully. "That would account for no light."

Brown disagreed. "Serena climbs every tree she can get. If she were in a tree, she'd know it. She'd climb back down."

"Yeah, but would she say it?" Gerhardt argued.

"Easiest way to find out." Brown switched channels on his comm. link. "Put me through to Little Dolly," he requested. "Honey, it's Daddy."

"Daddy? Are you coming to get me?"

"I am," Brown promised fiercely, rubbing at his eye when a stray dust mote flew in—and stuck. Had to have been dirt. Nothing else would account for the sudden watering that occurred. "Honey," he repeated, trying not to use her name. No use in giving away any possible advantage to an enemy that might be listening in. "Honey, tell Daddy: did Uncle take you up a tree?"

"N—no," she told him, thinking hard.

"Are you still in the woods? Did you go on a car ride?"

"I'm in the woods, Daddy, and it's dark and I'm cold…" Trying to be brave.

Brown's heart broke, and his teammates could see the pieces fall apart.

Blane stepped in. "We're coming to get you, little one," he promised. "You keep talking to your mother. Tell her everything you can about where you are. Keep trying to wake up Uncle." _I won't suggest that you're trying to wake the dead, not that you'd understand what that meant. Not at your age_.

"O—okay."

Gerhardt kept thinking. "Even a thicket of bushes wouldn't be enough to keep out the light. The only place that Betty Blue could have taken her without light, if not a hole inside a tree trunk, would be underground."

"You're talking caves?" Williams asked. "There aren't any caves in this field. It's forest, with an open field to one side."

"Yeah." Gerhardt lapsed into silence, but only for a moment. "Gimme the map."

"You have a thought?" Blane handed over the large square of paper.

"I do." Gerhardt gave one corner of the map to Williams, to spread it out. "They gave us a line to follow from the comm. signal, and it runs along here."

Brown refused to let the sudden hope spring into his voice. Dirt Diver was damn good, but would he be good enough? Brown refused to promise himself that everything would turn out all right. That wouldn't happen, he knew, until he could actually lay eyes on his daughter. Anything less would be too painful to endure. "The comm. signal line passes through forest, mostly, and then into the field."

"Right. Your daughter, Brown, was playing right here. This was where we had the picnic two weeks ago, and where she went to play yesterday before all hell broke loose." Gerhardt pointed to a spot along the edge of the forested area, nearest to the base. "Now, there has to be a reason that Betty Blue went into the forest rather than make a run for the base."

Williams frowned. "We already decided that. They were shooting at him. He needed cover."

"Right. But what if there was another reason?"

"Another reason?" Blane echoed. "Explain."

"More than a year ago, Betty Blue and I took a group on a training mission in here," Gerhardt said. "Betty Blue, along with the flag, went missing for a good couple of hours. Drove me nuts. Couldn't find him. He finally pops up after I give up and just wait him out," he added.

Blane had to ask. "You win?"

"Yup. No glory in a defensive position. I couldn't find him, but he didn't take my flag," Gerhardt added. "Point is, Betty Blue has a hiding place that he knows and I don't. Yet," he told them grimly.

Brown wasn't satisfied. "Point is, he can hide from you." _With my daughter_.

"He's underground, my son," Gerhardt said. "Now, look at this map. There ain't many spots where Betty Blue or anyone else can go underground. You have to have a place with plenty of hard rock, or your little hole in the ground falls in during the next good rain. Most of this is forest with soft dirt to grow in or field that's flat enough not to stop a bullet. Every place except here." He pointed.

"The creek?"

"Best place I can think of. Rocks. Boulders."

Blane nodded. "If they're inside a cave, this is where it would be. And the line from the signal crosses it…here." His finger briefly touched the map, like a talisman. He came to a decision. "Move out. Double time."

* * *

The brook babbled, and the sun did its best to warm the water that trickled along the creek bed through trees with enough leaves to darken every spot along its banks. Under other circumstances Brown would have stopped for a moment to enjoy the beauty, to inhale the scent of fresh air and life.

Not at the moment. There were more important things on his mind.

"Spread out," Blane ordered grimly. "Take your time; don't overlook any clue. They're here." His comm. unit buzzed at him. "Snake Doc."

"Home base. Snake Doc, the triangulation points are in. Betty Blue is located in sector D, four."

"Thank you, sir. We are already here."

"Nice to know we guessed right," Gerhardt said, the sarcasm heavy. "Don't suppose they can give us an altitude?"

"I don't see any caves," Williams put in, doubt in his voice. "Lots of boulders. There's a cliff on this side of the creek. It must have worn down the bank, a few hundred years ago."

"Or a few thousand," Gerhardt mused, running his hand over the rock face. It was smooth, rubbed clean by the creek as it rose and fell.

"There has to be an opening somewhere in here." Brown pulled away a bush, looking for a dark spot that would signal the entrance to a cave.

"Down here," Williams called out, voice grim. "Got a body. Neck's broken; few bones, too."

Gerhardt joined him. "Looks like he fell over the cliff. Fool got too close, lost his balance. One less idiot in the world. I'll flag him for later pick up. Maybe we can identify him, get fingerprints or something." _Not that I really care, but we might get some valuable data from this corpse._

Blane went for the high ground, on top of the cliff, for a bird's eye view, keeping to the main objective. He scanned the terrain. "I see no other place that fits our target area," he mused. He let his eyes go unfocused, taking in the scenery, inhaling everything in his path and taking a long moment before digesting the information.

There was a newly disturbed area, where the grass had fallen in on top of the cliff. Recent, too; the dirt was still black, not lightened from exposure to sunlight. It was fresh. Fresh meant—

"Up here," Blane ordered harshly.

"Top?" Brown was instantly there, climbing the cliff to the top of the grassy plateau, the hope that he couldn't control flooding him with tension.

Blane, beside him, pointed. "Right there. Ground has fallen in. Cave in, and it's recent."

Brown went flat onto the ground, laying his ear onto the dirt. "Serena?"

"Daddy?"

They all heard that: it wasn't through the comm. link. It had seeped out through the cracks in the rock into the open air and it was _music_. Blane toggled his comm. "Snake Doc to Home Base. Inform Mama Breeze that we located Little Dolly, and rescue is commencing."

"You need back up, Snake Doc?"

"Equipment would be nice. Some strong backs." Blane doubted that the shovels would actually be needed. The speed Cool Breeze was making, he'd have his daughter out ricki-tick before anyone could fetch so much as a garden spade.

"You got it, Snake Doc. Home Base, out."

"This boulder is in the way," Brown said, having dug out all the fresh dirt that he could. His hands were already filthy, and a scrape showed a fresh smear of blood. "It's too heavy."

Gerhardt was reading the signs from the brush around them. "Somebody walked around up here, looking for Betty Blue. Boulder split in two, probably under the weight of our friend with the broken neck. Look at the sharp edges to this thing. That's real recent." _And the reason that Betty Blue was no longer talking_; Blane could hear that unspoken part of Gerhardt's discussion. The world caved in on Betty Blue and Little Dolly.

"How are we going to lift it—"

Blane already had the answer to Brown's despairing question. "Ropes. We'll secure some lines around one side of the thing, and see if those muscles the Army has put into us are any good."

Williams suggested an improvement to Blane's plan. "We can use those trees there as a fulcrum, to increase our pulling power."

Gerhardt snorted, acknowledging the good idea. "You a college boy, talkin' about fulcrums?"

"No, sir. Just a man who doesn't want to work hard."

Gerhardt snorted, and looped his end of the rope around the boulder. "Then I want you tugging next to me, Hammerhead. I'll take smarts over brawn any day."

Blane flexed huge biceps. "We'll see. We'll see."

The rock, they would estimate later, was more than two tons of granite. Only years of wear had left a crack through the center of the stone that had encouraged the final break to fill in the small cave that Betty Blue had discovered. Only bad luck had let the crack occur at the exact instant that Betty Blue and Little Dolly were inside. Only good luck had kept them from being crushed in a bloody instant.

Tricky work. The Unit soldiers hauled at the boulder, heaving in tandem until the boulder moved back and out of the way. They tied off the ropes just enough to expose a dirty body, one that wasn't moving. Trying to move the boulder further, they realized, would likely cause it to slide back into the tiny cave below and finish the job it had started. No, digging out more dirt around the far edge of the cave-turned-hole in the ground was safer, and one that Blane ordered his men to do.

Charlie Grey came out first. The story wasn't hard to read: he had had only an instant of time to react, one split second of warning during the crack of the boulder to throw himself between it and the young girl in his charge. There had been a price: the Unit soldier was out cold, blood congealed on the back of his head, and Blane's probing fingers told him that it was serious. There was a curious softness underneath the dirty scalp that told of damage. It took another few moments to dig underneath the legs that had been pinned, and they lifted him out.

"Bro?" Williams couldn't help but feel for a pulse. It was there, slow. Too slow.

But pulling the man out had exposed someone equally as precious: Serena Brown. One long grab, and she was in her father's arms, never to leave them again. She sobbed against his neck, and Bob Brown clutched her tight. "Cool Breeze to Home Base. Let Mama Breeze know that Little Dolly is all right."

The return sob through the comm. link told him that the message had gotten through.

Gerhardt already had more rope out of his kit, fashioning together a rude stretcher. "Let's not take our time with family reunions," was his dour comment. "Where the hell's the locket?"

Blane felt in Grey's pockets, first the one in his jacket and then in his pants. Something hard touched his fingers, and he drew it out.

The gold of the locket twinkled in the sunlight, untouched by any of the surrounding dirt. Somehow none of the dust had managed to enter the locket's temporary home in Grey's pants, and at the moment it didn't matter. Blane looked down at the smallest member of his team. Smallest in stature, but not smallest in heart.

They had paid a heavy price for this intel. Blane sincerely hoped that it was worth it.


	11. Enough

Headache so bad that it drove every thought from his brain, yet something kept eating at him. Something he had to do. He was moving; no, he was _being_ moved. Jerked up and down. Carried. Couldn't do a damn thing about it but lie there and hope not to toss his cookies. Everything hurt.

A thought sprang free: the locket. Gotta get the damn thing to the colonel. Colonel'd know what to do with it.

Whisper in his ear: "You rest, Betty Blue. You did good."

It was enough. Charlie let the blackness back in. He didn't have to fight.

* * *

"Is Uncle Charlie going to be all right?"

Bob Brown could lie with the best of them. He did it for a living. This time he didn't, not to the little girl in his arms that he wasn't about to put down for the next thirty years or so. "I don't know, honey." _You deserve to be all right, Sgt. Grey. You saved my daughter's life. I can't repay the debt if you don't live, brother._

Blane nudged the comm. link closed. "Medical's ready for him. Colonel's sending out a vehicle to meet us at the edge of the forest." He put his other hand back onto his end of the impromptu stretcher that Gerhardt had lashed together out of rope and tree branches. With three of them toting the man, they were making good time.

_Just a little bit further, Charlie. You keep breathing, okay? You kept going this long, you can handle a little bit further_.

* * *

Colonel Ryan handled the debriefing himself. There wasn't much to it, and there was a small hole in the group that sat in the briefing room. It was Sgt. Charles Grey-sized hole, and it was obvious.

There was also a lump to one side: families. There was the Gerhardt family, the Blane family, and one member of the Brown family: Kim. Serena and her brother Teddy were too young to be able to keep quiet about what they were hearing but Serena was thrilled to spend some time with Sgt. Medawar, the voice that she'd talked to over the radio. In fact, Serena was already begging for a cell phone so that she could call Sgt. Medawar every chance that she could get. Kim had turned down the request, and Daddy was busy trying to figure out how he could dodge his little girl so that he too wouldn't have to say no.

It made for a crowded room, but no one complained. The men of the Unit brought in a few extra chairs, and Gerhardt and Williams perched on the ends of the table in lieu of additional seats. Ryan stood in front.

"I'm not going to tell you what was inside the locket," he told them. "It ain't relevant to you here, and would only get you into trouble. Even Sgt. Masters didn't know what he had, didn't know how important it was, else he would have taken a great deal more care with it. Suffice it to say that the intel is already in the hands of some upstanding folks who are makin' best use of it, correlatin' it with some other stuff that they have. 'Course, it's gonna make a bunch of us sleep a good deal sounder these nights, and that's all I'll say on the subject."

Not a problem, thought Gerhardt. He himself had already received a better briefing than any that would be offered here and now in front of his family, and his next mission was already set for three days from now. Based on the intel that Masters had acquired and his and Brown's daughter had had a hand in passing, Gerhardt would be traveling to a certain spot not too far from here and making sure that someone whose face appeared in the intel likewise appeared in the local newspaper obituaries. He hadn't been told, but he was also fairly sure that both Blane and Williams had received similar orders. Given the circumstances, Gerhardt was far from disappointed.

Ryan wasn't finished. "Mrs. Gerhardt, Ms. Gerhardt, Mrs. Brown, on behalf of the United States Army I'd like to apologize to you all for involving you in this affair. Sgt. Masters had no right to give that locket to Ms. Gerhardt, no matter how inconsequential it he thought it was. As we all know, he was wrong."

Tiffy spoke up. "He paid for his mistake, colonel. None of us here hold a grudge."

_You sure, Tiffy? That wasn't what you said last night, listening to Lissy cry in her sleep. Wasn't what you said to me, neither. Not what I see in Kim Brown's eyes, thinking of her own daughter._

Ryan moved on. "Near as we can figure, Sgt. Masters gave the locket to Ms. Gerhardt here during the baseball game at the picnic a couple of weeks ago."

Lissy nodded. "Third base. He was pretty nervous, but I thought that it was because he didn't want Mrs. Masters to know that he'd gotten her a gift. He told me to pretend like it was mine until he asked for it back." She made a face. "That's why I was so upset when I lost it, Mom. It wasn't really mine."

"Clasp got broke." Ryan provided the explanation. "Probably you received it in that fashion, Ms. Gerhardt. It fell, and the Brown girl picked it up for a plaything. Your daughter, Brown, had no idea what she was dealing with."

"Still doesn't," Kim put in.

"Not such a bad thing," Ryan agreed. "Nonetheless, she trucked it around with her toys, which is how it ended up on the edge of the forest. It was our good luck that Grey happened onto it before the enemy could. We'll be lookin' into that," he promised. "This base ain't ever been invaded, and it's a record that I ain't best pleased to be breakin'. Gives us something of a hint as to how important the locket was to the enemy."

_Yeah, we'll be doing something about that, colonel. That's a promise_.

Molly Blane changed the subject. "How is Sgt. Grey?" she asked. "The doctors won't tell us much."

"Ain't much to tell, Mrs. Blane," Ryan said blandly. "He's doing as well as can be expected."

"But he hasn't woken up."

"No, Mrs. Blane, he hasn't."

"That's not a good sign, colonel."

"No, ma'am."

* * *

Sgt. Medawar had her hands filled with Brown children. One, barely walking, was in her arms and the other was bouncing beside her, hand trustingly in hers. The corridors of the Medical Infirmary were sterile and white, cinderblock walls painted and painted again with white paint. It was a favorite task to assign recruits to, to clean things up with a fresh coat of paint. They passed an empty room, two beds inside waiting with fresh sheets for someone to occupy them.

"We're going to see Uncle Charlie, right?"

"If we can get in," Medawar temporized, mentally apologizing to the medical personnel and wondering how mothers coped with active pre-schoolers. This was supposed to have been a pleasant respite from her high stress job in the TOC. She'd never dreamed that it would be this tough when the colonel had assigned her this mission—er, _task_. Teddy snuggled against her shoulder, half-asleep, milky baby smell from his breath tickling her nose. Was it time for his nap? Medawar hadn't a clue.

One of the nurses hurried by, harried as Medawar felt. She frowned at the visitors. "Only family members are allowed in, if they're under twelve."

"It's okay," Serena chirped back. "We're going to see Uncle Charlie."

The nurse nodded understandingly. "Family. He's in four twelve. On the right."

"Thank you," Medawar told the retreating back, not quite certain that she'd done the right thing. _Is this how the Unit operators do it in the field? Misdirection?_

More misgivings cropped up when she followed Serena into the room. There were two beds there, but only one was occupied and Serena made a beeline for the occupant. "Uncle Charlie!"

No answer, and Kayla Medawar took a moment to stare at the unconscious figure. She knew Charlie Grey, had met him more than once and spoken to Betty Blue countless times over the airwaves. He was a good Unit soldier; one of the best, she knew. All of them were, on Alpha Team; she was aware of that from her work in the TOC. Not the handsomest of men, was Grey, but not ill-favored, either. She'd heard that he could charm the panties off of any woman around, not that she was about to mention that in front of Serena.

He wouldn't be doing any charming for a while. Not with that white bandage wrapped around his head. Both eyes were black-rimmed looking for all the world like an over-sized racoon, courtesy of a large boulder, and there were several more healing scrapes across his chest and shoulders. Something bound one leg, and Medawar recalled hearing something about broken bones. That was the least of the man's troubles. Bones would heal eventually. Waking up was more problematic.

"Uncle Charlie!" Serena scolded the unconscious figure. "Wake up! I have stuff that I have to tell you!"

Nothing. This was a mistake, Medawar realized. She should never have allowed Serena to come here. It would only upset the child when she realized just how badly hurt the man was.

Serena slipped her hand into Charlie's and kept on prattling. "Daddy said that you and me did really _really_ good," she told him. "He was really pleased to find out that I had the necklace that I found, and that you bought it at my store. Daddy said that he was going to get me another one, a real one, that has real gold. Not just a plastic one, like Mommy gets me."

Still no response.

"Uncle Charlie—"

It was definitely an error to bring the girl here. Grey was still unconscious, and that would only upset the child. Medawar reached to take Serena's hand once more. "I don't think we should stay—"

"Serena."

Not much more than a whisper, but one eye did its best to squint open. His hand did better; he caressed the cheek of the child that he'd rescued. The effort was too much for him; Grey's hand fell back to the pristine white sheets.

A tear sprang to Serena's eye. "Thank you for saving me, Uncle Charlie."

A smile in response. It was all that Betty Blue could manage, but it was enough.


	12. The World Moves On

Grey glowered as Jonas Blane smoothly maneuvered the sedan into the driveway. The smallish house sat welcoming back from the street, the bushes neatly clipped and the last vestiges of summer flowers bravely defying the encroaching cold weather. "Why're we stopping here? I thought you were taking me home."

"We are," Bob Brown jumped in before Jonas could answer. "This is going to be your home for the next few days."

"But—"

"Sgt. Grey," and Jonas allowed a rumble of amusement to color his tone, "did you or did you not wheedle your physicians into letting you out of the hospital a good four days before they said they would discharge you?"

"Yes, but—"

"And did you not," Bob was getting into the game, "fall over merely traversing the distance between your hospital bed and the wheelchair? It was hilarious, I assure you."

"That was because—"

"A similar circumstance ensued getting up from the wheelchair to this very car," Jonas recalled. "I believe I saw the nurse trying to refrain from laughter."

Charlie's face took on a stricken look. "Not Jennifer? The one whose phone number I scored just yesterday?"

"The very one, sergeant."

"Crap." Charlie sank back onto the back seat of the sedan, all of his meager energy vanished in a flicker. He closed tired eyes, the gesture almost lost into the lightening purple of the bruises. "Top, please. Take me home."

Jonas softened his voice, but not his position. "Not a chance, Charlie. Not a chance. Not with Hector away," he added, "on a business trip." He turned around to look at his passenger, not liking what he saw. There shouldn't be a white bandage wrapped around the man's head, covering the spot where the boulder struck. The two black eyes should have been from an overindulgence at a bar brawl, not a fight to stay alive in a cave-in. The crutches to help him limp along—well, they just shouldn't.

"Top…"

Jonas took pity on the man. "Put up with it, soldier, for a day or two. We'll reevaluate your status once Williams gets back."

Charlie muttered something under his breath.

"You got something to say, soldier?"

Charlie brightened as best as he could. "No, Top." He reached for the car door.

Bob beat him to it, pasting a big grin across his face. He pulled open the door for the passenger. "This should be fun."

"What, you don't think I can walk into the damn house?"

"I think you're going to fall flat on your damn face," Bob told him cheerfully. "In fact, I'm so certain of it that I bet Top the next round of beers Friday night."

"I didn't take that bet," Jonas observed serenely. "I don't like to lose."

Charlie's spirit of competition flared. "I can do it. I can walk into your damn house without falling over."

"All talk, and no action," Bob gibed.

Charlie snatched the crutches from the seat beside him, swinging both legs out of the sedan and touching the good one to the paved driveway. "Out of my way, Brown," he growled. "I'm coming through." He hoisted himself to his feet—foot—and set out.

"You might want to walk over the grass," Bob suggested blithely. "It's softer than the pavement."

"Wouldn't matter," Jonas put in. "The man's already got more bruises on his head than strands of hair. Falls and gets another one, nobody'll be able to tell."

A growl was Charlie's only response. He staggered, and righted himself.

"Hey—" Bob started forward.

"Back off, Brown. You're going to owe me and everyone else a beer, come Friday." Charlie took another step, settling the crutches before swinging forward on them.

Bob folded his arms, hiding the nervousness inside. "You know, he just might make it."

"He'd better. He falls over now, he's going to take out my wife's petunias."

_Snarl_. "You can at least get the damn door."

"Certainly, sergeant. Certainly." Jonas snaked out one long arm past his house guest to turn the knob to the front door and push it open.

Charlie's mouth was hanging open now, gulping for air, and his face had gone white with beads of sweat popping out. He placed the tips of the crutches over the transom and, with an effort, swung himself through. He swayed.

Bob couldn't help himself; he steadied the man.

Charlie didn't appreciate the help. "I can do this!"

"Sure, you can, Carlito. I'm just keeping you from putting blood on Molly's carpets."

A voice floated from the kitchen in back. "Jonas, is that you?"

"It is," Jonas replied, "with a couple of friends."

"Oh, good. You've brought Charlie home…" Molly's voice trailed off as she took in the sight. She took in a deep breath; the scolding was about to start.

Bob beat her to it. "He's trying to win a bet, Molly."

Molly let out the breath fast. "Oh." Her face took on a frankly disapproving look. "Oh, I see." She folded her arms. "Well, in that case, don't let me stop you from enjoying yourselves."

"Just…a blast…" Charlie was openly gasping for breath now.

"If he falls over, he's going to hit your coffee table," Bob told Jonas. "That would be just plain rude. Serena made that nice little paper flower for him, sitting on the table. If he hits the table, he's going to knock off the flower."

Jonas agreed. "We can't have that."

"Not…gonna…fall over…" Charlie took another step, only half the distance of the previous ones. He tottered dangerously.

"Which is harder, his head or your table?"

"Oh, his head, by all means," Jonas returned. "He just proved that with a certain boulder."

Charlie really wanted to say something in response. He couldn't. He didn't have enough breath to speak. Molly looked to Jonas, clearly telegraphing her concern.

"Chair's only three steps away," Bob encouraged. "Three steps, one round of beer."

Growl. Very little sound to it, but a growl nonetheless.

"A fine example of how Unit soldiers never quit," Jonas said admiringly. "We could make this into a recruiting tape."

"Top, we don't recruit. We don't exist."

"Too bad. Perhaps we could make the tape anyway, and give it to the Rangers."

"That would work. We could plaster Charlie's face over posters all across the country."

"Colonel Ryan would likely have something to say about that," Molly told them tartly, her eyes on the staggering man in her living room. _Hasn't this gone far enough?_

It had. Charlie didn't quit, but his body gave out on him in a sudden rush. His eyes rolled back into his head, and his grasp on the supporting crutches loosened.

Both Jonas and Bob were behind, catching and easing the man down into the upholstered chair that he'd been aiming for. Jonas snatched up a pillow or two to prop the man's head against the back of the chair while Bob lifted his legs onto the coffee table that they'd joked about, protecting the wood from the leg cast with yet another pillow.

Molly brought a glass of cold water. "Have you gentlemen finished having your fun?"

Jonas held the glass to Charlie's lips; Charlie himself was too worn out to hold it without spilling. "We have. I believe Sgt. Grey owes us a beer, due and payable this Friday night."

"Should he still not be able to walk," Bob agreed, "then we will agree to delay payment until the following week. With interest," he added thoughtfully. "A second round should cover it."

The voice was weak, but the eyes—once again open and dark against the bruised skin—blazed fiercely. "What're you talking about? I won, Brown."

"Won?" Brown snorted. "Man, you were out. You went down."

"Don't remember hitting the floor."

"That's because we caught you."

Charlie sighed deeply, relaxing into the comfort of the chair, secure among his brothers. "Right. Didn't fall." The eyes closed, and a smile etched itself across his features. "Never touched the ground."

Jonas Blane chuckled. "Bob, my man, we've been had." He laughed again. "Drinks on us, next Friday."

* * *

Lissy looked up suspiciously from the gold foil-wrapped present in her hand. "What's this?"

"Go ahead; open it," Mack Gerhardt invited. He draped an arm over Tiffy's shoulders, grinning.

"What is it?"

"You'll find out if you open it."

Lissy tried to slow down, but her curiosity got the better of her. A quick rip, and the foil fell away, revealing a square white box. She pulled off the top; inside was a velvet-covered container. She looked up. "Dad?"

"Keep going, sweetheart."

She did. She tugged the velvet box out of its protection, pulling open the lid. A gold chain spilled out onto her hand, a locket with a delicate filigree tracing looped through it. Lissy thought she recognized it. "Daddy, is this…?"

"No, sweetheart, it isn't," Mack was quick to tell her. "We thought that it was best to give that to Sgt. Masters's wife, once we'd extracted the information from it."

"That was nice," Tiffy said, hiding her fear. "It was the last gift he'd ever be able to give to Maria."

"There's nothing inside the locket," Lissy said, opening the tiny gold piece. "Wait a minute; what's this?" She plucked a small note from inside the velvet box. She read it aloud. "'In memory of something that never happened. Sergeant Charles Grey.'" She looked up. "Daddy?"

Mack regarded his eldest daughter, the one who had just done a lot of growing in too short of a time. The shadows were leaving her face, but his little girl would never regain her innocence—it was the price they had all paid for a moment's indiscretion. "Charlie's idea. We couldn't give you a medal for your part in this, but we can tell you that you deserved the honor."

"The locket's empty, Daddy."

"That's right, sweetheart. It's empty because this piece of life never happened."

* * *

"Ooh, pretty!" Serena's face shone with joy. "Can I keep it? Is it from Uncle Charlie?"

"Yes, sweetie, it is," Bob agreed, his arm around Kim's waist, watching Serena rip the gold foil to shreds. "It's a real necklace, from Uncle Charlie."

"It's special, sweetheart," Kim told her, lifting the velvet box out of the white cardboard surrounding it. "You can wear it to church if you promise to be careful."

"Can I sell it in my store?"

Bob and Kim exchanged a glance. Bob answered. "Not this one, honey. This is something that you'll never sell. It's something to remind you and me and Mommy just how special you are."

"In fact, it's so special that I'm going to keep it in my own jewelry box until you're older," Kim added. "We'll take it out for church, and then put it back." She picked up the note that accompanied it, reading the words silently.

_To the time that we spent together, and to the bravest girl I know. Sergeant Charles Grey._

This paper would stay inside Kim's jewelry box, along with the locket with nothing in it but memories. Her daughter couldn't understand the implications of what she had been through, and that was okay with Kim. It wasn't only the soldiers of the Unit who made sacrifices for the good of the country and the world. Their families too sacrificed right along with them. The ultimate sacrifice hit every one of them.

Kim wished with all of her heart that her daughter hadn't earned the locket.

And the world went on.

The end.


End file.
